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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354791">Promptmaster Discord Flash Fics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Flash Fic, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Sad, Silly, Suggestive Themes, Torture, unedited</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:33:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Promptmaster friends give us prompts, we all scramble to write them live. Everyone has a hilarious, good time. Collecting them all here. Unedited.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Flash Fics - PSON Whump Discord</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. “It was getting dark, and they weren’t there yet”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts">Jameena</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for all my friends and fellow writers with which we all play this wonderful game together. if ya want to play along, come join us.</p><p>chapter titles are the prompts</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bright, give me that,” JT wrenched the flashlight out of his hands, stopping his dance of creatures on the ground.</p><p>“But - <em>but</em> - I was making a spider.”</p><p>“We have two miles to go,” JT chided. “You’re gonna give me a seizure.”</p><p>“I want a lollipop.”</p><p>“Your Dum-Dum ass can buy a whole bag full as soon as we get back. In <em>one</em> piece,” JT added, taking into account his knack for accidents.</p><p>“I’m cold.”</p><p>“Walk faster.”</p><p>“Can I have the flashlight?”</p><p>“You’re a walking disaster,” JT shook his head, and they continued along on the path.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. look at me | phone charger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stare into my eyes.”</p><p>“Bright, you’re not a fortune teller.” Dani rolled her eyes, thwacking his shoulder.</p><p>“I have a mystical phone charger.” He started swinging the head of the phone charger back and forth by the cord.</p><p>“Bright — “</p><p>“You are getting <em>very</em> sleepy,” Malcolm continued in a spooky voice.</p><p>“You’re going to be sleeping if you don’t hand it over.” She held out her hand in frustration.</p><p>“<em>S - l - e - e - p - y</em>.“</p><p>“I will hit you.”</p><p>“Spoil sport.” He plopped the charger into her hand and turned on his heel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. bodyguard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They pay him the big money. The stuff your pockets — tell anyone who looks at ya sideways to fuck off — bucks. They even print his face on them in his dreams.</p><p>He turns his head away, lets words pass through his ears, never sees the things that transpire in front of him. Just silence, pictures of the beach vacation he’ll have someday, and the comfortable recliner he’ll sink into when he gets home.</p><p>Mr. David crosses his arms, standing guard inside the cell. No one goes out. No one comes in. No one ever exists.</p><p>Just the way he likes it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every time Malcolm walks up the precinct stairs, he steps over the seventh step. Not the sixth. Not the eighth. The seventh.</p><p>A quick little hop he doesn’t even notice. A jump to pop him up or a jump down, and he’s on his way.</p><p>He’s walking out with JT when JT sees him skip it. “What was that?” JT asks.</p><p>“Oh nothing.”</p><p>“Go back up.”</p><p>He complies and comes back down again.</p><p>“Why do you keep skipping the seventh step?”</p><p>“Because seven ate nine.” Malcolm’s smile gleams.</p><p>JT shakes his head, not even giving the statement a laugh, and parts ways to go to his car.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. sway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lemon — blueberry — lemon — no, blueberry — “</p><p>“Take a damn danish,” JT thunks one onto Malcolm’s plate.</p><p>Malcolm gets up to grab a plastic spoon and scoops out the yellow filling.</p><p>JT shakes his head. “That’s not how you eat a danish.”</p><p>Malcolm shrugs. “That’s what my mother says.”</p><p>“On one thing, we might actually agree.” JT’s head tips back and forth.</p><p>Malcolm mimes the spoon at him. “She also thinks you’re nice. Professional.”</p><p>“Okay, two.”</p><p>“But I know the <em>real</em> JT.”</p><p>“Eat your danish.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. cling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hold on to me, Bright.” Gil shifted his arms on the profiler, ensuring he had a solid grasp of his hips.</p><p>Malcolm’s legs dangled over the edge of the fire escape, only Gil’s arms holding him up. His head spun, the hit now leading to his stomach churning. His hands grabbed for Gil’s shoulders, but his legs just kept swinging.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Gil reassured.</p><p>Malcolm’s hands wrapped over Gil’s shoulders, and they both held tight, waiting for backup to arrive.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. sink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He turns on the faucet in the kitchen to fill the pitcher, letting it run a moment to ensure it’s cold. His fingers go into the stream, testing, when he’s greeted by a visitor.</p><p>“Hi, Sunshine.” He smiles when she cheeps and hops in the sink, dancing around the puddles of water. Her wings flap and she sings, having a blast.</p><p>He puts the pitcher under the faucet so she can keep playing without getting drenched.</p><p>“Game time, huh?” He shuts the water off and sets the pitcher to the side.</p><p>He holds out his hand and Sunshine hops on, ready to go for a ride.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. scrabble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>JT looks at the row of tiles in front of him. W. W. W. What was this, the fucking Internet.</p><p>Malcolm looks at his row. P. P. P. He translates it to <em>pew, pew, pew</em> in his head.</p><p>Gil’s holder has Z. Z. Z. What Bright looks like the needs more of as he inspects the deep circles under his face.</p><p>“What did you do with the tiles?” Dani accuses, hitting Malcolm’s leg. O. O. O. is laid out before her.</p><p>“Guess I forgot to mix.” Malcolm shrugs, but his smirk sneaks out of the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Give me that.” She takes the bag of tiles and starts collecting all of them to setup again on the table in front of Malcolm’s couch.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. quirk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No — no — no.” Malcolm slinked away from Dani’s hand.</p><p>“Excuse me.” Malcolm slid around JT.</p><p>“Not now, Mother.” Malcolm backed away from her hands trying to fix his tie. He was a big boy. He could take care of it himself now.</p><p>“Hey, kid.” Gil rested his hand on the back of Malcolm’s neck.</p><p>Malcolm brightened his eyes, quirked his lip, and let Gil stay.</p><p><em>He</em> could touch him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. volatile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He’s not the loose cannon, he’s a swinging Empire State Building ready to smash New York! He’s destructive! I want him <em>out</em>!”</p><p>When the threats went from Gil’s boss to the whole pool of brass, Gil was in trouble. Well, Bright was the problem, but any firing scenario put Gil in the crosshairs — there wasn’t a clear shot.</p><p>Gil wants to issue Bright protection, but they won’t let a gun anywhere near the “free-wheeling imbecile.”</p><p>Oh, how they forgot Bright was his kid.</p><p>His phone rings — “We’re on the way to the hospital — Bright got attacked by the suspect.”</p><p>More ammunition for his superiors.</p><p>One of these days, the shot wouldn’t miss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. tape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He could see everything in the precinct. Every time an officer came through the front. Every time a criminal was brought through the side door. Every time someone exited the conference room in a huff. Every time someone shot the shit over coffee.</p><p>Even got a front row seat to Gil’s office. Confident heels striding in, complaining about her son’s latest transgression. Weary eyes walking out, only a few more hours left until he’d drop from exhaustion. Concerned eyes looking end, wondering if they could do anything, <em>anything</em> to prevent a tailspin.</p><p>Edwin, the steadfast tape dispenser.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. footsteps</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>canonical character death - jackie</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil and Jackie walked to church every Sunday, her shiny black pumps clacking in time to his weathered brown shoes. He let her set the pace and he compensated, arm around her and glad to be in her company.</p><p>Her steps got slower, his arm more holding her up than staying by her side. She smiled all the same, pointing out new things for sale in the shop windows and changes to any of the surroundings on the street. They stopped for pastries afterward, taking a rest stop outside at a café.</p><p>She didn’t want him to drive her. The walks became too much, so she sat on a convertible walker, asking him to push her along the concrete. One hand rested on her shoulder, caressed her neck, pointed out all the changes that were harder to see.</p><p>He walked to church alone one Sunday. His footsteps were silent. He didn’t see anything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. agony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Step.</p><p>Step.</p><p>Step.</p><p>Malcolm padded down the stairs, eager to let Sunshine out for an afternoon fly around. She was two for two playing with her new ball, and he wanted to see if they could make it a threepeat.</p><p>He stepped to the wood floor and a wailing “Owwww!” shot from his throat. Grabbing the wall to keep from falling over, he bent his foot up to his knee and inspected the damage like a master yogi. No skin piercings — just a set of indents.</p><p>Scattered on the floor were a few pieces of green and yellow. Had he really been that careless when he put together his nano block parakeets?</p><p>He looked at Sunshine.</p><p>
  <em>Cheep!</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. x-ray</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mr. Bright, what did you ingest?” The doctor pointed at an x-ray.</p><p>“I didn’t ingest it!” Malcolm complained, his arms flailing off the bed.</p><p>“It’s in your stomach, sir. Folks come in here with all sorts of sex injuries all the time —“</p><p>“This is not from <em>sex</em>!” He flushed lobster red, and Gil giggled from the corner of the curtain. “This is <em>not</em> funny!”</p><p>“A little,” Gil admitted, a wide smile on his face.</p><p>“Mr. Bright, I need to know what the object is. It’s a little on the big side for you to pass it.”</p><p>“One of those clamshell balls from a prize machine,” Malcolm groaned, looking at the foot of the bed he wanted to disappear under.</p><p>“Now why did you ingest that?”</p><p>“I <em>didn’t</em>! A suspect wanted me to shut up.”</p><p>“I see that worked wonders,” the doctor commented.</p><p>Gil died laughing in the corner.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. skip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Skip, skip, skip to my lou</em> — the kids played around him, shrieking and spinning on the playground.</p><p><em>Skip, skip, skip to my lou</em> — their eyes all directed to him, firing daggers his father hadn’t managed to stick himself.</p><p><em>Skip to my lou</em> — they charged him, feasting on their kill.</p><p><em>My darlin’</em> — they lay beside him, basking in the bloody aftermath.</p><p>Malcolm’s thunderous yell awake bounced off the window, and he ducked to avoid the blades.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. pretty little thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t think you thought this through.”</p><p>“I gave you the thumb drive with a confession of stabbing The Surgeon, now I leave. Simple as that.” Malcolm paced backward toward the door, his hands staying out in front of him as if he were going to be attacked.</p><p>“Pretty little thing like you?” Endicott purred, advancing toward him. His gaze rivaled The Surgeon’s in creepiness.</p><p>Malcolm felt behind him for the doorknob, hit himself in the ass swinging it open, and ran out, not looking back.</p><p>His mother made terrible choices in men.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. zap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bright played at his desk with the present Gil had given him for Christmas. <em>Click — zzzz — pop</em>. He’d pull his hand back a bit and complete the same procedure again. <em>Click — zzzz — pop</em>.</p><p>“JT!” he buzzed excitedly when he came into the office. “Give me your hand!”</p><p>JT gave him a look of <em>ya gotta be kiddin’ me</em>. He didn’t dignify the request with a response.</p><p>“What are you, scared?” Dani teased, sharing a challenging gaze with Bright. “Give it to me.”</p><p><em>Click</em>. Dani touched her finger to the tip of the device. <em>Zzzz</em> — she held her finger there like it was a normal feeling. <em>Pop</em> — Bright let go of the trigger.</p><p>“That is <em>not</em> normal,” JT commented.</p><p>“Give me that,” Gil pulled the device out of Bright’s hands. “That is an arc lighter. For <em>lighting</em> things. Not zapping yourself and your friends.”</p><p>“But it’s the perfect gift!” Bright whined.</p><p>“I take it back,” Gil said sternly, hiding the device in his desk.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. just go already</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bright’s left hand swelled twice the size as normal, a prick left behind the only indication of the source of the damage.</p><p>“No amount of vitamin C gonna fix that.” JT’s eyes widened.</p><p>“My dad used to lick and stick warheads on,” Dani added.</p><p>“Bright.” Gil frowned at him when he entered the conference room.</p><p>Bright dipped his hand at him in dismissal. “It’s normal.”</p><p>“Just go already.” Gil squinted his eyes and shook his head.</p><p>“Tomorrow. If it doesn’t go down.”</p><p>“Bright.” Gil said firmly, a challenge for Malcolm to keep talking.</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>“I will <em>not</em> find out you are deathly allergic to bees with your corpse on the floor in this <em>precinct</em>!” he snapped, slapping the folder in his hands against the table.</p><p>“If I was, I’d be dead already,” Bright rationalized, a little too cocky.</p><p>“<em>Out</em>!” Gil grabbed him by the collar and pushed him through the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. utensil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The conductor wielded his spork, each downbeat directing he’d fish for more lies, the countering change in direction bringing them to his lips. He’d chew on them, reveling in their sweet, succulent taste, digest what he wished, and spit the rest out in his words.</p><p>“My, you’re a picky bird,” Dr. Whitly pointed the spork at Malcolm’s plate, cuing he should eat more.</p><p>But the peas were mushy, the carrots the wrong side of al dente, even the water carried a metallic taste he couldn’t stomach.</p><p>“Concerned for you, my boy,” Dr. Whitly assured, the spork dipping in smaller rhythms of diminuendo.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Dr. Whitly could orchestrate the lies onto a beige tray, but Malcolm wouldn’t call him maestro. He wouldn’t eat them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. quit squirming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>JT pinned Bright to the ground, leaning all of his weight into the man’s back. “Quit squirming, Bright,” JT commanded, pushing harder.</p><p>His legs kept jerking, but he could no longer harm himself trying to struggle walking away.</p><p>Dani’s arm’s pulled at Bright’s ankle, dislodging the trap to another wild scream from Bright.</p><p>“You feral?” JT teased against his ear.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” Bright cursed, letting out a whooshing breath and trying to stabilize the pain. “Get off me.”</p><p>“I’m carrying you back. <em>Do not</em> try to walk.”</p><p>“I got it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. now is not a good time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mother, you need to break contact with Endicott,” Bright rushes in pleading as soon as the call connected.</p><p>“Now is not a good time, <em>dear</em>,” she says with a lilt on the end.</p><p>“He’s a criminal.”</p><p>“Watch your language.”</p><p>“He’s blackmailing dad.”</p><p>“Well, good for him.”</p><p>A rumble of a voice, scratch of a chest comes through the phone. “Mother!”</p><p>She gives a nervous laugh. “It’s not a good time dear.”</p><p>“He’s not safe — come home, <em>now</em>.”</p><p>Footsteps walk across the floor and a door closes. “This better be good.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. party trick</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m <em>really</em> good at withstanding hurricane force winds!” Bright boasts leaving a crime scene at a jet engine manufacturing facility.</p><p>“<em>Bullshit</em>,” JT calls him out immediately.</p><p>Bright talks an attendant into letting him into a testing room. “Look,” Bright calls, and they all turn just in time to see a <em>woosh</em> and him smack into the back wall.</p><p>“Bright!” Gil exclaims, angrily shaking his head. “I swear, I’m gonna —“</p><p>Before any of them can enter the room, Bright holds up a finger and the attendant triggers the device again. Bright unceremoniously falls over.</p><p>Gil throws open the door. “Enough!” he yells, glaring at the attendant.</p><p>“That was morning breeze,” the attendant defends.</p><p>Gil throws the kid over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Twig,” JT mutters, floating between belief and disbelief that he’d do something so stupid.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. mass hysteria</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm had holed himself up in his loft, letting select few into the stairway. “Contagious,” he claimed, wanting to keep them as far away as possible.</p><p>Dani and JT waited outside the door, having already been buzzed in.</p><p>“Just leave it in the hallway,” Bright called, and added, “please.”</p><p>“Bright, you can take one step out into the hallway,” JT chided.</p><p>“Proof of life,” Dani joked.</p><p>Malcolm didn’t open the door, didn’t even move.</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>. C’mon,” JT encouraged. “You using me for my chicken noodle?”</p><p>The door opened a smidge, and Malcolm’s pale, sweaty face poked out. He took one whiff of the tub JT held and erupted a fountain of clear vomit onto the floor.</p><p>The back of Dani’s hand pushed into her face, but up came her lunch, adding to the puddle. JT tried to hold his gag reflex back with a grimace, but he too lost in a gush, completing the trifecta.</p><p>They all looked at the mess between them. “Never again, Bright,” JT muttered.</p><p>“I told you I shouldn’t open the door,” Malcolm complained.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. super glue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil had told him to go home hours ago, but Malcolm had lost track of anything besides the open case file in front of him. Predilections, daily habits, route to work — anything that would trace what their victim was doing before they wound up dead in an inner tube on the Hudson.</p><p>His fingers idly popped a cap. Off — on. Off — on. Off —</p><p>His attention was interrupted when <em>on</em> never happened. He looked over inside of his drawer where his fingers were playing.</p><p><em>Super glue</em>, the label told him.</p><p>Two fingers and his thumb were stuck to the package. He picked up his phone with the other hand.</p><p>“Hey — uh, Dani — do you have any…nail polish remover?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. gotcha</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gil — I uh, think I’m stuck in the supply closet,” Bright’s voice came across the phone.</p><p>Gil stopped looking at anything on his computer screen, puzzled by the absurdity of his statement. “What?” His head gave a little shake.</p><p>“Someone locked me in here.” He could hear Bright’s voice jitter against the wall.</p><p>Gil left his office, walked down the hallway to the closet, grasped the handle, twisted —</p><p>and the door flew open.</p><p>“<em>SURPRISE!</em>“ Dani, JT, and Bright cheered, throwing confetti on him.</p><p>He was not amused. “<em>Bright!</em>”</p><p>“Congratulations on your promotion.” Bright beamed, thrusting a box at him. “It’s a 1:12 model of the LeMans you can paint yourself.”</p><p>“Like the one on my <em>shelf?</em>” Gil grit his teeth.</p><p>Bright ducked his head and his eyes widened. “Congratulations?”</p><p>Gil shut them back into the closet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. lies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>

</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. hoax</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carried into the precinct in a plastic bin, the envelope nestled between Anderson and Ascott, held firmly within the compartments four walls. Forgotten for a few weeks.</p><p>JT laid a small pile of letters on Gil’s desk. “Mail, boss,” he said and turned to leave.</p><p>“Thanks,” Gil said instinctively, reaching into the pile and opening without taking his attention from his computer screen.</p><p>“Shit,” JT heard Gil curse and turned around.</p><p>A bit of white powder dusted Gil’s desk. They locked eyes. “Get ESU,” Gil instructed. “Stay back.”</p><p>Malcolm waltzed into Gil’s office through the other door, exclaiming, “Who has potato chips?”</p><p>JT glared at him and Gil yelled, “<em>Bright! Stay back!</em>“</p><p>He continued to the desk, pressed his finger into the dust, and put it in his mouth. “Not the good kind,” he dismissed the offering.</p><p>And strode right. back. out.</p><p>“Unbelievable.” Gil threw his hands in the air, not knowing what to do with him anymore.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. customs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He walked up the stairs. Unlocked the door. Set his keys on the side table. Hung up his coat. Said “Hi, Sunshine.” Smiled. Toed off his shoes. Unbuttoned his jacket. Carried it across the room to the closet and hung it up. Walked to the kitchen.</p><p>Pulled a banana from the bunch. Peeled it back and cut off half. Diced it into small pieces. Slid them into his hand. Took the whole pile and dipped it into Sunshine’s spare dish. Filled Sunshine’s spare water. Brought both of them to her cage and swapped them for the dirties. Returned to the kitchen and washed them all out, setting them aside to dry.</p><p>Then he fed himself. Nibbles of banana that never had the right texture. But Sunshine <em>liked</em> them. And he needed to eat <em>something</em> that wasn’t sparkling water. The pieces tasted like melodious singing, sweet on the tongue.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You fall, and then we catch you,” Dani explained, the whole team standing behind Bright.</p><p>“I don’t think — “</p><p>“No — nope — that’s the whole point. You trust us, we catch you.”</p><p>“I swear, if I end up on the carpet — “</p><p>“Bright,” Gil nudged him to get to the action requested.</p><p>Malcolm took a deep breath and tipped sideways into a chair and thudded onto the table.</p><p>“What the — “ JT started, but the right words didn’t come to mind.</p><p>“Bright?” Gil’s hand found his shoulder.</p><p>“Musta passed out.” Malcolm’s hand rubbed over his face. “<em>Hey</em> — you were supposed to catch me!”</p><p>JT and Dani slinked out the door. “This one’s all you, boss,” JT said over his shoulder.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. quiver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“He left his full quiver of arrows behind — he’s still gotta be somewhere in the building,” Malcolm pointed out. “They’re too precious for him to have left.”</p><p>Malcolm stood in the center of the basketball stadium, in full view to the rest of the room. “Bright, take cover, <em>dammit</em>,” Gil shouted.</p><p>But Malcolm quivered in his Gucci boots. “He’s under the bleachers,” Malcolm directed. “Far end near JT.”</p><p>Gil and JT scrambled in that direction, but Malcolm never moved. The suspect had the bow in his hand when JT pulled him out, yet his arrow never flew.</p><p>“Bright,” Gil said, walking toward him, “<em>kid</em>.”</p><p>Gil made contact with his shoulder, and Malcolm jolted back. “I need a second.” Malcolm held his hand up.</p><p>Malcolm’s had everything pointed at him, but he never thought he’d get freeze up over a real-life Robinhood.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. loopy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bro — what kind of drugs were in those Fruit Loops?” JT asked, guiding Malcolm away from the scene.</p><p>Malcolm looped left and right, tipping toward the fence, the street, the concrete underneath his feet. “Something’s wrong,” Malcolm managed, his feet tripping up underneath him. He giggled, connecting each footstep to a hidden beat in his head.</p><p>“No shit.”</p><p>JT called Gil. “Get the box of Fruit Loops out of the kitchen. Bright’s sick. I don’t know what it is, but he’s one misstep from the pavement.”</p><p>“It’s all a dream,” Malcolm said with a spacey lilt.</p><p>“He’s high,” Gil responded to the sound of Malcolm’s voice.</p><p>“He’s…something.” JT didn’t quite know what to say.</p><p>“Bring him home.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. crash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shards of side mirrors and headlights crunched under his feet, grinding a memento into his shoes. Red bits, white bits, stray metal bits all homed together in a fracas, eating through to his feet, ensuring they’d always have a place with him.</p><p>Buckled metal, sardined front end reaching for the sky in a silent call for help. But none was needed, the impact too great for time or distance to have mattered. Flattened into an accordion, only dreadful sounds creaked out to onlookers.</p><p>Reaching the passenger side of the vehicle, a piercing wail cut the audience.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. that's going to bruise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The assailant smashed the third story window in the art museum with a stone from a piece called <em>Goal Posts</em>. The extra point was good, and the stone and the man dropped out, escaping onto a balcony below.</p><p>Malcolm jumped right out after them, figuring he’d take the same trajectory, roll, and catch up to him.</p><p>He didn’t.</p><p>He missed the clear area of the balcony and landed on top of one of the shade umbrellas, collapsing along with the pole and table.</p><p>“That’s gonna bruise,” the bartender commented, looking at Malcolm’s form writhing on the ground.</p><p>“Bright?” Gil called.</p><p>Malcolm pointed in the direction of the man’s getaway, too sore to move.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. ziptie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>200.</p><p>The number of zip ties it took to mount one Malcolm Bright to the ceiling. Yellow, green, black, even a few hot pink. The most illustrious of ornaments.</p><p>A crowning achievement. A glorious decoration on the way into the precinct to greet dear Gil Arroyo. His shining star plastered across the ceiling.</p><p>The tensile strength of the zip ties was very high — they would hold Malcolm for hours until Gil came in.</p><p>The crossbeams in the drop ceiling were not.</p><p>In a wicked crack, the whole section of ceiling caved and Malcolm plunged to the floor, face down on the linoleum. His skull clanged and his limbs whined, but he didn’t get knocked out.</p><p>It was only a matter of bending the frame at that point, and he managed to get his phone out of his pocket.</p><p>“Gil — I’m a little bit tied up.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. stranger danger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Let’s turn back around and head to the car,” Malcolm directed Dani and her back, getting her to complete the action, but turning her head to figure out why. “No — no — stay front.”</p><p>“This is a new level of stranger danger for you,” Dani joked.</p><p>“More like Mother smother. Jessica Whitly at six o’clock.” Malcolm’s eyes darted left and right like she would have somehow teleported to three or nine.</p><p>“You know she’s probably already seen you, right?”</p><p>“She wouldn’t want me caught dead in this suit.”</p><p>“But you’re her kid, right? Gotta be able to spot you a mile away.”</p><p>“Doesn’t always work like that.”</p><p>“Malcolm!” Jessica bellowed across the street.</p><p>“You were saying?” Dani teased, a smile on her face.</p><p>“Kill me.” He rolled his eyes and steeled his shoulders for the impact of his mother.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. dip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bright, care to explain why you are <em>naked</em> in the Hudson?” Gil looked at him from the shore.</p><p>“It’s a funny story,” Malcolm called.</p><p>“Somehow, I doubt it.”</p><p>“A seagull took my shorts!” Malcolm smiled, hands waving above the water.</p><p>“That implies they were here on the bank, not on your ass.”</p><p>Malcolm looked at the water. “How did you find me?”</p><p>Gil reached into the grass. “Your phone. It’s been at a standstill the past two hours.”</p><p>“How many times did you call?” Malcolm asked.</p><p>“Ten.” Gil shook his head. “Thought I was going to find you with concrete bracelets.”</p><p>“Do you have any clothes I can borrow?” Malcolm looked at him with big eyes.</p><p>“I should make your skinny dipping ass run to the car naked for this.” Gil ran his hand over his face. “Don’t want to deal with an indecency complaint. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Gil turned around to walk back toward his car. “Thank you!” Malcolm shouted.</p><p>“Don’t <em>ever</em> do this again,” Gil growled while still retreating.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. hip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil slammed into the pavement off the back of a tractor trailer, their suspect a little overzealous in his desire to keep his bed uni-parcel. Gil stayed on the ground, even when they had the wily driver in cuffs.</p><p>JT and Malcolm stood over him. “Gil, JT’s gonna pick you up, and then you’re gonna rest on both of our shoulders,” Malcolm directed.</p><p>“I’m not geriatric,” Gil complained. “I can get up.”</p><p>Dani joined them. “Why don’t you all wait? The ambulance will be here any minute.”</p><p>“<em>Ambulance?</em>” Gil stressed.</p><p>“Boss — “ JT started, but Malcolm cut him off.</p><p>“If you were fine, you would’ve been on my ass already about how I shouldn’t have jumped on top of the truck to get to the driver,” Bright pointed out. “And you would’ve gotten up already.”</p><p>Gil looked between all of them, outnumbered. “Any jokes about hip replacements, and you’re fired.” And then he looked at Malcolm and directed to him, “Bright, take note of how you properly seek treatment when injured on a scene.”</p><p>“You know he’s not gonna listen, right?” JT remarked.</p><p>“I didn’t hit my head.” Gil glared in return.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. rip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm worked frantically to sort out the last wires and defuse the bomb the team had stumbled upon in the victim’s house. He cut into one and the whole cooler-sized contraption exploded, shooting the whole team crashing to the floor.</p><p>Dust wafted everywhere in heavy orange and brown.</p><p>“Rip,” Edrisa commented, her head popping up out of a sea of pink and orange powder. She coughed, expelling some of it from her lungs.</p><p>Gil glared at her, making it to sitting himself. His head rang with the impact from the concussive sound. “Bright?” he called out frantically, not able to see much in front of him.</p><p>“It’s not <em>really</em> a bomb,” a quiet voice came from the center of the room. “Well, he <em>tried</em>, but it’s a whole lot of compressed air and…color powder?”</p><p>“Dani? JT? Call out,” Gil directed.</p><p>“Good, boss,” Dani replied.</p><p>“Right here,” JT added.</p><p>Malcolm appeared in front of Gil looking like he’d finished the color run ten times. “I think I might need to go to the hospital,” he said, the room spinning around him from the disorienting sound, and dropped to the floor.</p><p>“JT — find bomb squad. Dani — help me get him to a bus.”</p><p>“I can help, Gil,” Edrisa offered.</p><p>“See if you can uncover the vic,” Gil indicated, and he and Dani carried Malcolm out the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. you're all mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sweat rivulets crept from Malcolm’s forehead down into his ears, over his cheeks, into his eyes. The salt <em>burned</em>, adding a fire to the gleam in his captor’s gaze, taunting whether they would flash each other out.</p><p>Malcolm struggled against the Cat-5 restraints, tying his body to a server rack with the backbone of the Internet. But the cable wasn’t plugged in — no one would be able to find him.</p><p>Malcolm silently hoped Gil had surreptitiously microchipped him like he had threatened, and he’d be a bright spot in the tech hub. If he hadn’t…</p><p>“You’re <em>all</em>…” The tech drew shapes into the sweat on Malcolm’s face, marking him. “<em>mine</em>.”</p><p>His stench was more dark web than dank meme, his fingers pulling him in worse than a Twitter feud, grasping Malcolm’s quivering chin.</p><p>“<em>Mine</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. hoarse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A shallow breath rattled in Malcolm’s chest, not even giving him the opportunity to try to take it deeper. He brought his elbow across his face, coughing in a hearty wheeze he couldn’t shake. He laid in bed, on top of the covers, chest and head propped up a little bit with two pillows.</p><p>“Kid, I really think I should take you in,” Gil advised, sitting next to him on the bed.</p><p>“To work, sure,” Malcolm replied in a rough scratch, breath after breath getting caught in his chest and escaping on harsh, cracking coughs.</p><p>“This isn’t good.” Gil squeezed his shoulder.</p><p>Malcolm tried to speak, and air came out on a raspy hiss, doubling him over in coughs on the bed. Gil rubbed his back, feeling all of the warmth emanating off of him.</p><p>Once he’d calmed, Malcolm looked to the nightstand. “Water?”</p><p>Gil quickly retrieved a glass of water for him and brought it back. Malcolm took one swallow, and the cough returned. Gil took the glass so it wouldn’t spill.</p><p>Malcolm leaned back into the pillows, giving up on anything relieving the situation.</p><p>“I think you might have pneumonia,” Gil said.</p><p>“Not read—“ Malcolm wheezed. “— get up —“ Malcolm coughed. “yet.”</p><p>“Don’t talk.”</p><p>Malcolm nodded and let his head loll on the pillow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. fixate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm dipped the lollipop into his mouth, ran it along the inside of his bottom lip, tapped at it with the tip of his tongue, lapping up the sweet cherry flavor. Rolled it across into his cheek, sinking into the pocket, then up under his top lip, only a bit of it fitting before it dove back to the side again and disappeared onto his tongue. Suck, suck, his throat bobbed on a swallow and the lollipop emerged to his lips again, sliding between them.</p><p>“Sir, do you need something?” Gil asked, looking at a man who stood on the sidewalk outside the precinct.</p><p>“Uh, nothing sir,” he turned away and retreated toward the end of the block.</p><p>Gil looked up the stairs to see Malcolm eating a lollipop. He stopped at his side on the way in. “You had an audience,” Gil commented.</p><p>Malcolm took the wrapper out of his pocket and put the lollipop away, face redder than the candy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. pin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He pinned her hair back, each delicate strand captured in a cross of bobby pins, curling around to a twist at the back. He picked out a clip with red rhinestones that accentuated the fold of the twist, and anchored it in. He took a step back to admire his work.</p><p>“I’m sure it’s fine, honey,” she spoke.</p><p>“Not as good as yours, but — “ He held a mirror in front of her face.</p><p>Her soft smile stared back at him in the glass. “It looks fine.” Her head dipped and she coughed into her elbow. “I might need a few minutes before I can get dressed.”</p><p>“We’re not in any rush.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready.”</p><p>Jackie reached for Gil’s hand, and he helped it the rest of the way, sliding it between his. Squeezed to turn the chill into something north of freezing, to feel that she was still there.</p><p>Momentarily.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. tinker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>119 pieces.</p><p>Paint. A few shades. Specifically matched to get the proper hue of black that dipped to midnights driving down to the waterfront, more adventure than sleep in her eyes.</p><p>Glue, a specific kind. Special to melt and bind the pieces together so tightly they’d never part. His ring shined next to the task light where he held up one of the hundred sorted pieces, trying to remove it from the frame.</p><p>Crack.</p><p>120.</p><p>He went more carefully, running an x-acto knife along the edge.</p><p>Snap.</p><p>121.</p><p>With all of the glue and paint, could he ever put the LeMans back together?</p><p>Fling.</p><p>The sheet of pieces flew across the room.</p><p>Some things were just gone.</p><p>People, just —</p><p>Bend.</p><p>He picked up the abandoned item and started again, reaching for some semblance of summers down by the river, looking for trouble under the pale moonlight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. quench</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was on the way home. A little park with swings and a jungle gym that a handful of kids hung upside down on. </p><p>And a splash pad. A little girl screeched and outran another small child, the drops of water falling down on them. Sun high in the sky, it was the perfect way to cool off.</p><p>Malcolm’s run ended on a few strides over to the pavement, the streams of water shooting into his shorts, a child beside him throwing two cupped handfuls of water up into his face, his sweat-soaked hair shooting out to either side as he shook his head.</p><p>It was hard to tell whose grin was bigger, his or the kids. JT decided it didn’t matter. He just kept walking back to the precinct, bag of subs in his hand.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. just stay put</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just stay put,” Gil shoved him into a chair. Some of the prototypes Malcolm was testing accidentally went with him.</p><p>An old conference room chair. The pleathery grey closer to cracked than new. Closer to move your ass than come stay awhile.</p><p>Stickier than a mouse standing in glue. Equally inhumane, but Malcolm doubted they would kill him. All of his adhesive prototypes currently had him <em>glued</em> down.</p><p>Stuck in the 1980s in a beat up chair, there was only one thing Malcolm wanted to do.</p><p>Move.</p><p>Malcolm tipped his forehead to the table and pushed up with his head and legs. His back hunched forward at 45 degrees, his face only able to see the floor in front of him. He took a tentative step, only able to move his legs from the knee and below.</p><p>Forward.</p><p>Forward.</p><p>He could do this. Escape to the bathroom and get himself the hell out of this mess.</p><p>Gil saw the ass end of chair legs from his office, shuffling their way down the hallway. “Bright!” he caught up to him and easily grabbed one of the legs.</p><p>“This is not funny,” Malcolm complained, his face red.</p><p>“Neither is failing to follow orders.” Gil leaned over to look him in the eye. “What in the hell did you do?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Malcolm stood up as straight as he could, still incredibly bent over. </p><p>“What is that, downward facing dumbass?” JT asked on the way to the conference room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. abandoned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm’s childhood lay in a box, buried behind all of the other things one should forget about. Old decorations they used to put on their Christmas Tree but no longer touched. Mismatched furniture that rotated in and out of the rooms.</p><p>A chest that teleported place to place, room to room on nighttime’s ether, never getting him high enough to take flight and leave. A shoebox that contained few things he remembered after all those years. A steamer trunk that washed afloat every time the waves crested at high tide.</p><p>The little boy had been left behind as soon as his father had first manipulated him. With all the boxes that fill the space, why can’t he forget —</p><p>The hands that clawed at chloroform.</p><p>The legs that scrambled for safety.</p><p>The fingers that dialed for help.</p><p>The man that ended him before he could become a man.</p><p>He closed the box into his desk, but the voices cried to get out.</p><p>Find me.</p><p>Find me.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. uncontrollable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It starts with a zip in his foot. A little tremble of his big toe. Grows to a bounce on the ball, shooting up his leg to jump his knee six inches in the air on every hop. Shakes his whole body on every jolt, quaking as if the walls will fall in on him.</p><p>They do.</p><p>He curls into a ball, shielding his head, leg still hopping on the ground looking for something to tap against. It misses the floor, the wall, anything to hold onto. Arms engulfing his legs and head, he can’t even hold himself still.</p><p>Stranded alone, he can’t pick up the phone, can’t make requests for someone to help him stop whatever <em>this</em> is. He doesn’t even know anymore.</p><p>On a zap, his foot connects with a brown boot. A hand reaches down to his neck. Cinnamon reaches through the fog to his nose.</p><p>Gil.</p><p>On the floor of the precinct.</p><p>More legs, metal. Conference room.</p><p>Maybe he’s less alone.</p><p>He still can’t stop.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. muzzle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This mask will help you out there in the world. Shield you from temptation. Hide you from sinful alcohol. Save the world from watching you eat those dreadful lollipops. Keep you from making a sound.”</p><p>Parachute pants pulled the strings tight behind Malcolm’s head, sealing his face from under his eyes to his throat. Malcolm took a deep breath in.</p><p>“Oh, did I forget to mention keep out the air? That’s its prime feature. One minute of breathing, one minute of not.” Parachute pants grinned, puffed up with the hot air he kept from Malcolm. “You’ll get used to it.”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes grew and his face turned hot, the mask trapping in all the heat. Locking in everything except —</p><p>Air.</p><p>Malcolm couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t pull his hands free from where they were laced to the chair. Couldn’t negotiate with his captor why he was doing this, and why, why, <em>why</em> wouldn’t he consider something else.</p><p>
  <em>Why?</em>
</p><p>Pop.</p><p>Breathe.</p><p>In — out. In — out. In — out. Rapid succession, hyperventilating. He needed to get free, free, free —</p><p>Pop.</p><p>Suffocating.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. vice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm doesn’t murder like his daddy. Doesn’t fawn over cars like Gil. Hasn’t snorted cocaine since a wild party in college, for research. Hasn’t eaten a full tub of Kentucky Fried Chicken.</p><p>He’s the full fucking state of Florida and then some, an army of humans raging for justice in a compact package. Slip him in stealthily, and he’ll catch the criminal, himself, and might even tack on an injury for his trouble.</p><p>
  <em>Malcolm Bright, crusader for justice, formidable —</em>
</p><p>
  <em>danger magnet?</em>
</p><p>JT passed the newspaper across the table. “Hey man, ya gotta read this.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. you've got to stay awake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bright, stay with me.” Gil shook Malcolm’s shoulder, the irony of the situation not lost on him. For once, he needed to tell the kid to stay awake instead of go to sleep.</p><p>“What’d they gib me?” Malcolm slurred, his tongue two sizes too big for his mouth.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Malcolm’s head turned to the side, and Gil pulled it back.</p><p>“Bus is a minute out. Are you allergic to anything?”</p><p>Every word was punctuated with thick sloshes of his tongue. “No. Wew, sethms licke I mithgt be now.”</p><p>A heavy wheeze came through his throat, his hands grasping for a noose they couldn’t see.</p><p>“Bright — keep breathing,” Gil urged, shaking his shoulder again.</p><p>Malcolm listened to Gil’s voice until his world went black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. quizzical</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No, Twizzlers are not breakfast,” Dani chided, pointing at the bagel she had pushed across the table.</p><p>Malcolm looked at it quizzically like he was expected to understand the offering as some sort of food? That he should eat?</p><p>JT opened his, biting into a thick layer of cream cheese.</p><p>“It was morning, they were the first meal I ate — crack out the Webster’s, but I’m pretty sure that means I ate breakfast,” Malcolm defended.</p><p>“Then eat lunch,” Dani directed, biting into her ham, egg, and cheese.</p><p>Malcolm crossed his arms.</p><p>JT stared at him across the table and took another healthy munch into his bagel.</p><p>One hand unfurled from Malcolm’s clench around himself and tentatively poked at the paper. Tap. Tap, tap. He peeled back a corner of the wrapping, revealing a smidgen of plain bagel with butter. It smelled like…torture.</p><p>Malcolm pushed the offering away from him and returned his arm to wrapped around himself. “I’m not hungry.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0052"><h2>52. zealot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm bounded up the precinct stairs. “There are eleven different kinds of freshwater turtles and one brackish turtle in New York. This one’s bite is <em>a lot</em> worse than its bark, and it’s a bit spiny and twisty turtley, and ready to <em>snap</em> when you least expect it. Will split through number twos, crack your finger if you let it. Turn into nine fingered JT. Arrrrrrrr.” Malcolm held up his fingers with one curled back.</p><p>JT followed after him into the conference room. “Whoever put cocaine in your coffee needs to…not.”</p><p>“High, me?” Malcolm hit his hands into his chest and threw them back out, speaking again. “This is <em>life</em>. Thrill of the <em>chase</em>. Our suspect has a love for beautiful reptiles, an ability to lift at least 25 pounds, doesn’t mind a tad smelly, might like little claws scratching for him.”</p><p>“Bright, it’s a snapping turtle,” Gil ended the rant, punctuating it with a folder slapping into the table.</p><p>Malcolm hopped across the room to the next topic, already starting to bounce off the walls.</p><p>Gil and JT shared a weary glance, exhausted by 10AM.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. kaboom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There wasn’t a crash, bang, or walloping boom.</p><p>Wasn’t even a whisper.</p><p>Just —</p><p>nothing.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>A deadly warning.</p><p>Worse than the loudest siren blaring through the city’s streets.</p><p>Worse than an all-out meltdown thrashing around the room.</p><p>Gil knocked on the door. “Bright?”</p><p>Still silence.</p><p>Knock. “Kid?”</p><p>Nothing dropped or shifted to break it.</p><p>“Malcolm, I’m coming in.”</p><p>Gil twisted the door handle to find Malcolm sitting on the floor, facing the wall, his head curled into it. A former closet turned decompression space anyone on the team could use. Malcolm had gone in and never come out.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Gil pressed a hand into the back of his neck.</p><p>No movement.</p><p>No recognition.</p><p>Gil’s heart fell through the floor in a thundering kaboom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0054"><h2>54. backfire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil prepared the fire pit, trying to get the right combination of wood and fuel in to get up to the right temperature to grill some snacks. He held a bottle in his hand he started squeezing.</p><p>“What you making?” Malcolm’s face leaned over the grill just as the flames flashed up from the lighter fluid.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>, Bright!” Gil’s arm shot out to push him back as the flames licked his forehead.</p><p>Gil pressed down Malcolm’s eyebrows, checked his hair for stray embers, held his face by the cheeks. “Are you okay?” Gil asked, looking over his reddened face for any signs of burn.</p><p>“That was fascinating!” Malcolm’s eyes were pinpoints from the exhilaration.</p><p>Gil gave Malcolm’s head a little shake to get his attention. “Anything burned?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Ten foot radius.” Gil let him go and pointed away from the fire pit.</p><p>“But — “</p><p>“<em>Now</em>.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. quaint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jessica walked into Malcolm’s loft and was presented with a new abomination under the stairs. “<em>Malcolm!</em>“ she yelled, not bothering to look for him.</p><p>“Mother.” Malcolm rose from the living room and walked toward the entryway.</p><p>“What in the hell — “</p><p>“Mother, welcome to Sunshine’s new home.” Malcolm gestured an arm across it, pointing out all the new toys and perches to play with.</p><p>“Well, isn’t that <em>quaint</em>.” Her hand dug into her hip and all of her weight shifted onto it. “What exactly are you going to tell company?”</p><p>Malcolm scoffed. “Company? Did you check the address?”</p><p>“Spend less time with her and more time finding another half.”</p><p>“I was thinking another third, but — “</p><p>“<em>What!?</em>“ Jessica’s exclamation shook the roof of Sunshine’s new enclosure.</p><p>“You walked into that one.” Malcolm shrugged.</p><p>“I will put a <em>night club</em> downstairs,” she threatened.</p><p>“Might be kind of fun,” Malcolm returned. “Give me something to do when I can’t sleep.”</p><p>“You’re incorrigible,” she leveled and strode toward the door.</p><p>“I learned from the best.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. mislead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One foot hung back out the door, the rest of Malcolm’s body tipped into Gil’s office.</p><p>“Go straight home, kid. Do not pass suspect central, do not collect stay out all night ideas — straight home,” Gil commanded, staring him dead in the eyes.</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>“I know you’re lying,” Gil called him out.</p><p>Malcolm stepped his second foot into Gil’s office.</p><p>“A mile too late,” Gil noted.</p><p>“I need something to do when I can’t sleep,” Malcolm complained.</p><p>“Take up piano. Play La Cucaracha ’til it rocks your loft. Build the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I do not <em>care</em> as long as you go. straight. home.” Gil held both of Malcolm’s shoulders, looking for acceptance of his point.</p><p>“Go to the library?”</p><p>“I swear, kid — “</p><p>Malcolm grinned and left Gil’s office.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. howl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was fine, he was fine, everything was fine, fine, <em>fine</em> —</p><p>“Aaaooooo,” Malcolm howled, jerking back his arm.</p><p>Not okay, not okay, everything was not. okay. Not —</p><p>He looked at his impaled appendage.</p><p>A unicorn bandaid stared back at him.</p><p>“Until next time, Mr. Bright,” the nurse said and left the ER bed with his blood in hand.</p><p><em>The good kind</em>, Malcolm thought, returning his arm to the bed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. you're going to have to speak up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His head buried in his knees, tears plastered between skin and denim, his words only had his shelter to travel into.</p><p>“You’re going to have to speak up, honey,” Jackie coaxed, rubbing the small of his back.</p><p>His next string of words didn’t get much further, only blubbering into his thighs. She sat with him anyway until his eyes were drier, until he could voice “I want a hug,” and she pulled him into her side, never letting him go.</p><p>“Can I get you some farina?” Malcolm asked.</p><p>Jackie turned her head to him, her chin rolling a slow trail across her chest and resting on her shoulder. “You’re going to have to speak up, honey,” she requested, her voice incredibly quiet.</p><p>“Farina?” Malcolm said louder, his voice carrying more strength than she had left.</p><p>“In a minute,” her voice came out a whisper. “How ‘bout a hug?”</p><p>He curled in the chair behind her and carefully wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her frail frame against his chest. The hug carried every bit of love he held for her — he didn’t want her to go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. xoxo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tip dipped into his skin and drew across in a practiced slash. The blade left behind a crimson ribbon streaming toward his center. An inch to the right, the blade crossed the first cut — x marks the spot. Blood ran into his belly button, collecting in a small pool.</p><p>Gleaming under the fluorescent light, the implement circled his skin and left a ring of lifeblood pouring out of him.</p><p>A quick <em>slash</em> — <em>slash</em> left an x behind when sufficient treasure wasn’t found at the first. Overflowed the pool, leaking down toward his pants.</p><p>Wheel of misfortune, the last loop dribbled to join the rest, a melting trail of vital fluid sustaining no one.</p><p>She wiped away the excess with a tattered towel, the sharp XOXO staring back at Malcolm, carved into his stomach.</p><p>“So you don’t forget me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. it's not my blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm and Dani walked out of the test facility back toward Gil’s car. Gil put his radio away, looked up, and shot out of his seat.</p><p>Viscous crimson fluid poured down their chests, covered their arms. How were they even standing? He reached back in the car to call for an ambulance when simultaneous words met his ears.</p><p>“It’s not my blood.”</p><p>Like two siblings tattling on each other, pointing fingers, seeing who could avoid getting out of trouble with dad.</p><p>Dad was not pleased. He was incredibly concerned, his eyes bouncing between drip after drip of blood falling to the pavement and the plumes across their chests. “Are either of you hurt?” Gil managed to get out.</p><p>“The test dummies backfired,” Dani explained.</p><p>“There were no survivors,” Malcolm added, and Dani swatted him.</p><p>“We’re both fine,” Dani clarified, Gil’s eyes finally calming somewhat.</p><p>“That doesn’t come in my car,” Gil stressed and dropped back down to the driver’s seat, shutting himself inside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. vacant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm sat on the back steps of the precinct, and Gil lowered himself beside him.</p><p>“I-I don’t know what I did wrong,” Malcolm’s voice trembled, his eyes lost somewhere far beyond the concrete wall separating the precinct from the next building.</p><p>“Probably nothing,” Gil soothed, his words patient.</p><p>“You don’t know tha-t,” Malcolm’s voice broke, and he took in a gulp of air.</p><p>“Kid — “</p><p>“I c-couldn’t save him.”</p><p>“We didn’t have enough time.”</p><p>“I should’ve — “</p><p>“Malcolm, no,” Gil tried to derail his train of thought.</p><p>Malcolm gasped, his chest hitching as he tried to contain his sobs from becoming audible. Arms clenched around himself, Malcolm’s frame shook as he struggled and failed to express any more words.</p><p>As much as Gil wanted to, he knew not to touch Malcolm, knew not to try to get him back inside. He just sat beside him, looking at the cars in the parking lot, looking at the concrete wall, wondering if Malcolm could see the other side.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. preen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She rubbed her shoulder, cleaning off any dust that collected. Stretched out her short span, flicking off any extra bits that remained after her flight. Rubbed her feet, removing any trace of water. Checked her dishes, seeing if she’d need to knock for more food. She whistled from her spot beside the door, trying to draw attention.</p><p>“Malcolm!” she called, needing help with dinner.</p><p><em>Cheep, cheep</em> — “Hi, Sunshine,” Malcolm greeted as he approached the entryway. Then turned. “Mother.”</p><p>Jessica handed him a stack of dishes and rattled on. “I just got in. I had Luisa make these — they need rice — did you know it’s raining?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. underestimate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do <em>not</em> underestimate the power of my wrath,” Malcolm threatened, straightening his shoulders.</p><p>“If you have to identify it by name, it’s probably not very lethal,” Dani observed, her face unimpressed.</p><p>“Je-just — “ He reached his hand out. “Give it to me. Give — “</p><p>“I don’t think so.” Dani bit down on a Twizzler and chewed.</p><p>“Ne-ne — <em>NO!</em>“ Malcolm yelled, pulling his hand back and stomping his foot.</p><p>“Nope, still not very scared.” She took another bite, leaving half the Twizzler left.</p><p>“That’s my <em>lunch!</em>“ Malcolm complained.</p><p>“Exactly the problem. I eat this, you get real food. Problem solved.” She dangled the remaining bit, taunting him with her success.</p><p>“<em>Powell</em>,” he growled.</p><p>“Oh, we’re on a last name basis, are we now?”</p><p>“I’ll eat all of your yogurts,” he barked and pouted back.</p><p>“Sounds like success on my part.” Not that he’d touch them anyway.</p><p>“I won’t bring Earl Grey.”</p><p>“Soooo, scary.”</p><p>“I will tell this entire precinct your favorite stuffed animal.”</p><p>“Teddy bear,” JT said, walking by them.</p><p>“Good luck.” Dani grinned, watching his face think through option after option to get her back. She patted his shoulder. “You come get me when you find your wrath.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0064"><h2>64. rictus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>when demon eyes are hiding<br/>just beyond the door,<br/>let them inside quietly,<br/>ask for all you want, and more!</p><p>wrapped up paper packages<br/>tied with curly bows,<br/>stacks and stacks<br/>passing, watch the pile grow.</p><p>everything you need<br/>scattered on the ground.<br/>but she keeps on bleeding,<br/>silent scream the only sound</p><p>you’re sitting in the corner,<br/>wary grimace on your face.<br/>“<em>darling, do your chores</em>,”<br/>yet the cloth doesn’t erase</p><p>years of manipulation<br/>underneath her eyes.<br/>in silent tears, you’re a wading,<br/>the demon lurks inside.</p>
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<a name="section0065"><h2>65. don't look down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Line it up,” JT guided.</p><p>Malcolm complied.</p><p>“Now the trick is don’t look down.”</p><p>“How am I supposed to know what I’m going after?”</p><p>“You feel it.”</p><p>Malcolm glared at him in disbelief.</p><p>“A little left, a little right, <em>feel</em> that baby under your hand.”</p><p>Malcolm followed his instructions, not thinking they’d actually work.</p><p>“Now snatch!” JT called.</p><p>Malcolm popped the button and the claw dropped and snapped —</p><p>Into a pocket of air.</p><p>A sad tone played, indicating Malcolm had lost.</p><p>“Go again — lighter touch this time,” JT encouraged.</p><p>Malcolm clasped the joystick in his hand. “You know, I could actually <em>look</em> at what I’m trying to grab.”</p><p>“That’d be a lot less fun,” JT joked, lining up to walk Malcolm through the instructions another time.</p><p>Maybe he’d catch something.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0066"><h2>66. exsanguinate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm’s breath stuttered as he pushed harder into his side. His fingers sloshed in a crimson tide, washing over his middle, flooding into the ground and top of his pants. Surely the slick should feel warm, not never-ending cold that wrapped from his fingers down to his bones.</p><p>One, two, maybe three pints gone to feed the blacktop? Nothing would grow — they’d need to till it under for there to be any hope, any — </p><p>Four pints? His fingers shook in the liquid, unable to press as hard as he wanted, as hard as he needed, as hard as —</p><p>“Gah!” he cried, but it barely broke the silence of the world fading into a void. End of the tunnel, never going back level, tipping more out than in, reaching the end —</p><p>Eight to twelve pints, eight to twelve — what end of that scale was he on? How long did he have? How long — so long —</p><p>“Ahhh!” his scream came out as merely a whisper when two firm hands pressed overtop his.</p><p>Chaos buzzed around him, but he didn’t understand any of it. Only, “Jerome,” made it through before he lost consciousness.</p>
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<a name="section0067"><h2>67. nerve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Smack!</em>
</p><p>The edge of the precinct wall on the way from Gil’s office to the conference room.</p><p>Malcolm’s arm, below his bicep, firmly popped into the corner while he was swinging past.</p><p>“<em>Shit!</em>“ he cursed, grabbing his elbow.</p><p>Numbness shot down his forearm and into his pinky and ring finger. Waving the limb around, he tried to shake out the pins and needles, but it took nearly a minute to pass.</p><p>“There’s a wall there, Bright,” JT said, walking by to get to his desk.</p><p>Some nerve.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0068"><h2>68. x-acto knife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He ran the blade over the glossy page, circling out an A and setting it aside. Thumbing through a few more, he squared off an N and added it beside its friend. Flips and swipes, and a whole pile of characters looked back at him.</p><p>He set down the x-acto knife and ran his thumb along the photo of Malcolm, sedated and bound to a stark chair. Letter by letter, he affixed his clippings to his prized possession with glue stick.</p><p>He held the photo in front of Malcolm, admiring his work next to the original. <em>Any takers?</em></p><p>He pricked Malcolm’s finger with the tip of the blade, sealed an envelope addressed to the precinct with his blood, and sat back, waiting for a response.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0069"><h2>69. cable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“High speed Internet!” Malcolm buzzed around the precinct, doing his best impression of the concept.</p><p>JT and Dani hung back in the conference room, watching his behavior through the window. Dani tipped her white cheddar popcorn toward JT, and he took a handful.</p><p>“Subtle,” Gil commented, watching out the door from the end of the table.</p><p>“How concerned should we be right now?” Dani asked.</p><p>“Second cup of coffee?”</p><p>“Only the one.”</p><p>“About a five.”</p><p>Malcolm ran back into the room, laying out several prints across the table. “Fiberoptic cable. Here to Jersey. Special installers with extra wide wheel trucks. Out of state. Light blue license plate. Gotta be commercial. Maybe — “</p><p>“Bright, take a breath,” Gil interrupted.</p><p>“Bro, I asked do you watch <em>The Flash</em>?” JT reminded what started the adventure.</p><p>“No,” Malcolm replied.</p>
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<a name="section0070"><h2>70. whimper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm was accustomed to being on the receiving end of a hug. A rub at his neck, a hand on his shoulder, a clap on his back — Gil was always there to make sure he was okay, loved, even if their words struggled to express it.</p><p>Malcolm wasn’t used to initiating the hugs. It’d taken him some time to welcome them at all, never mind actively provide them to another person. He didn’t even know if they would want them, and he knew firsthand the anxiousness of unwanted contact.</p><p>But Gil was whimpering with his head hung over the kitchen table, and no one else was there.</p><p>A reality as jarring as Gil’s trembling hands and face.</p><p>Malcolm didn’t know if it was what Gil would want, but he didn’t fear it would make things any worse — they couldn’t get worse. He ran a hand over Gil’s shoulder, rubbed his neck, and pulled him into a hug — the only thing he could think to give.</p><p>Malcolm offered comfort until Gil retreated to the bedroom, alone for the first time.</p>
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<a name="section0071"><h2>71. jar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You let that two bit psycho run around this precinct like he’s god!” the words ripped through the bullpen, pierced through Malcolm, and held him in place in his chair.</p><p>“In my office, <em>now</em>,” Gil barked, the seething grit to his voice so out of place it broke its way through the tunneling haze to Malcolm’s ears.</p><p>“ — Bright.”</p><p>Malcolm opened his eyes to Dani’s hand on his knee. He took in a gasping breath, trying to orient himself.</p><p>“Let’s go outside,” she said, patiently waiting for him to agree.</p><p>His next breath coming too quickly, he shoved out his chair and strode out of the precinct, Dani a step behind him.</p>
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<a name="section0072"><h2>72. absolution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bright, you don’t need to stay here anymore,” Gil shared.</p><p>“You might need something,” Malcolm argued.</p><p>“I got clipped, I’m not dying,” Gil chided, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher.</p><p>“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Malcolm tried to take the pitcher from him.</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>,” Gil warned, getting him to take a step back.</p><p>“They gave you 16 stitches. 16!” Malcolm waved his arms in front of him. “You can have a little TLC.”</p><p>“What do you say when your ass is sitting here?”</p><p>“I just go home.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Gil tipped his cup of water at him. “You can do that now.”</p><p>“That’s not logic— “</p><p>“Out.” Gil stood firm, drinking his water.</p><p>“But — “</p><p>“You give your mother a run for her money.”</p><p>“You want me to call her?”</p><p>“Turnabout’s fair play.” Gil curled his bottom lip between his teeth.</p><p>“I sit here quietly until you fall asleep,” Malcolm bartered.</p><p>That would be hours. “If you talk, you go home immediately.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>Malcolm drifted off in a chair at Gil’s bedside, falling asleep without anything left to occupy him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0073"><h2>73. hacksaw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I have one tiny tree in my yard, and <em>you’re</em> trimming it. With a hacksaw?” Gil observed, shocked at the sight through his sliding door.</p><p>The tree took up the whole small back patio and several branches had snapped in the overnight popcorn storm, blocking most of the concrete.</p><p>“Yeah!” Malcolm smiled, brushing his hair out of his face, slicking it back with sweat.</p><p>“I do have a chainsaw,” Gil noted, sipping his coffee.</p><p>“Would you feel better if I was out here with it?”</p><p>“You have a point,” Gil acknowledged. “Probably could have gotten them with a few lops of pruning shears.”</p><p>“Then I wouldn’t have gotten this great exercise,” Malcolm huffed out, rasping the blade back and forth.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Extra energy. Save me some coffee?” Malcolm requested, looking at Gil’s mug.</p><p>Gil shook his head. “Sure.” And turned to the TV to get a recap of the previous day’s game.</p>
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<a name="section0074"><h2>74. voodoo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin stabbed a spork into his clay. “Shoulda gone a bit further south, don’tcha think?” he asked Mr. David.</p><p>Mr. David kept looking at him, unamused. </p><p>Martin withdrew the spork from the hairline and waved it in front of the bust he’d sculpted. “How about one of his beady, little eyes?” Martin wondered, stabbing the tines through the pupil. “Nah, that’s not that satisfying either.”</p><p>Sitting back admiring the likeness, he searched for a place that would provide more comfort. With a slash, the spork hit the neck, and an aggravated sawing brought the head to the floor in a splat.</p><p>“<em>Enough!</em>“ Mr. David raised his voice. “Clay time’s over.”</p><p>Martin slid back into his chair, and his work table was pulled away from him. The ruins of Arroyo looked back at him from the floor.</p><p><em>Your day is coming</em>.</p><p>“You good?” Dani asked, Gil rubbing his forehead at a crime scene.</p><p>“Headache. Must be the weather.”</p>
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<a name="section0075"><h2>75. inconspicuous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm creates the parts at a local makerspace. Downloads plans online and gives them to a tech who prints them for him. Ten hours later, he has four pieces that snap together into an ombred red and orange switchblade.</p><p>Plastic. 3D printed.</p><p>Not detectable walking through scanners at concerts. It works out great for their case, and he’s able to get to the upper deck and cut out the suspect’s flash drive from a cushioned seat without attracting any attention.</p><p>Not detectable entering Claremont either when he doesn’t remember it’s still in his pocket. He sits across from Dr. Whitly at dinner, doing his best to keep quiet and endure the trial.</p><p>“Box got your tongue?” Dr. Whitly grins, leaning toward him.</p><p>Malcolm jerks, his hand knocking the underside of the table, his chair scooching a little bit back. Something clatters onto the floor, drawing Malcolm’s attention.</p><p><em>The knife</em>. <em>Shit</em>.</p><p>Martin’s eyes find it too and he scrambles to reach it.</p><p>Malcolm snatches it up and flees to the door, pounding for Mr. David to let him out.</p><p>“They don’t make ‘em like that in Jersey,” Martin jeers behind him.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, an accident,” Malcolm jitters on one breath, handing over the contraband to Mr. David.</p><p>Mr. David takes it away and shakes his head. “How did that get in here?”</p>
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<a name="section0076"><h2>76. flounder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t think I can do this,” Malcolm warned, his hand over his face.</p><p>He staggered up from his chair, knocking over his water glass and sloshing his shoes in the process.</p><p>“You’re making a scene,” Jessica hissed, blotting the water on the table with a napkin.</p><p>Malcolm stumbled to an empty table, bumped into the back of another chair, and disappeared into the bathroom.</p><p>“You’ve gotta stop pushing him,” Gil chided, looking across the table to Jessica.</p><p>“It’s <em>flounder</em> — you’d think I’d given him <em>poison</em>,” her voice dropped, giving her a touch of the dramatic.</p><p>“Mighta worked out better,” Gil returned a retort he’d end up paying for later.</p><p>She rolled her eyes at him as he disappeared, going to check on her son, his kid.</p>
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<a name="section0077"><h2>77. x-out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crossed his name with marking pen, two and three and four. Drove it through until it bled ten pages down or more. Would he die in someone’s arms draining to the street? Or would he go more quietly, not a soul to see?</p><p>Whole picture blacked, he closed the cap, put away the pen. But the man kept staring back, so he ripped the page to shreds. Tiny falling pieces floating to the floor. Ground in with a weary sole until there were no more.</p><p>Stalwart blade at his side, he vanished out the door. Off to find one Malcolm Bright to dim him once for all.</p>
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<a name="section0078"><h2>78. frisk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hands slid from his armpits, down to his waist, over the inside and outside of his thighs to his ankles. “Quite the foreplay, officer.”</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>, shut up,” Gil ordered, standing to the side and looking on in frustration. Back in New York for one day, and the kid was already in trouble.</p><p>“Hands out — touch your nose,” the officer instructed.</p><p>“I’m not on anything — well, illegal anyway,” Malcolm babbled.</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>, I will call your mother — you need to shut up,” Gil begged. And then said to the officer, “He has a health condition.”</p><p>“Just doing my job,” the officer explained. “He passes, you take him with a reckless driving ticket.”</p><p>“The hydrant jumped out at me!” Malcolm complained, moving as the officer pointed him to walk a line.</p><p>“Life’s easy with the Lieutenant on speed dial, huh?” the officer commented to Gil.</p><p>“No. Far from it,” Gil disagreed.</p><p>“Why’s he shaking like that?” the officer asked as Malcolm turned and made a perfect walk back.</p><p>“He has a health condition,” Gil repeated. “Now can we please get this over with so I can take him home?”</p><p>Ticket in hand, Gil had the Whitly’s car towed and got Malcolm into the LeMans. “How about you let me drive from now on?” Gil instructed.</p><p>“But I’m showing promise!” Malcolm complained.</p><p>“No, you are not. You’ve caused the deaths of several innocent mailboxes, hydrants, and signs.”</p><p>Malcolm sighed and let Gil take him home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0079"><h2>79. i won't ask again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil heard an “Ahhh,” behind the wood and knocked, normal then louder into a pounding. “Bright?”</p><p>A deep moan of pain made it to the front door.</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>, let me in — I won’t ask again.” Gil hit the door with the side of his fist.</p><p>No answer.</p><p>Gil unlocked the door and saw nothing out of place. “Bright?” he called.</p><p>“Here,” a quiet voice came from the kitchen.</p><p>Gil found him on the floor between the bar and the counter, grabbing at his hand covered in blood. Gil pulled a towel from the counter and wrapped it around the mess of crimson wash.</p><p>“Knife slipped,” Malcolm offered.</p><p>“What’d ya use, a cleaver to cut celery? <em>Jesus</em>,” Gil commented, squeezing his hand around the deep cut between Malcolm’s thumb and index finger.</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes fluttered.</p><p>“You gonna pass out on me?”</p><p>“Already did that once.” Malcolm held up a finger on his good hand, blood transfer streaming down on it.</p><p>Gil pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Fuck it. You’re going in an ambulance.”</p><p>“<em>Gil</em>,” Malcolm whined.</p><p>“No arguments.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0080"><h2>80. ragged</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Genus: Sleeptuss. Species: Interuptuss,” Malcolm commented in his best wildlife documentary narrative voice.</p><p>“Say <em>that</em> to his face,” Dani commented, eating a peanut.</p><p>“What’d you do, Bright?” JT accused from his perch at the edge of his desk.</p><p>“This is not on me,” Malcolm defended.</p><p>The three of them looked into Gil’s office, deep purple, weary eyes, and overly wrinkled pants behind the glass.</p><p>“I’m going in,” Dani said, pushing away and striding toward the door.</p><p>“You will <em>not</em> speak of him that way,” Gil’s roaring voice made it through the door and out across the floor.</p><p>Dani turned around and walked back to the two men.</p><p>“Pretty sure it’s about you,” JT patted his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.</p><p>“Brighteyes Drewflies?” Malcolm joked.</p><p>“More like Dumbuss Amongus,” JT returned.</p><p>Dani tapped Malcolm’s knee in agreement.</p>
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<a name="section0081"><h2>81. nosebleed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Holy shit!</em>“ Dani exclaimed, grabbing a few tissues from her desk and squeezing Malcolm’s nose.</p><p>“Whut?” Malcolm’s eyes opened, looking around, lost as to what was going on.</p><p>His eyes landed on the same thing Dani had seen — a pool of blood gathered on the top of his desk, reaching for his keyboard. He pushed the keyboard back so it wouldn’t get messed up.</p><p>Dani took his hand. “Hold this,” she ordered.</p><p>Malcolm shifted to sit back a little bit. “No, no — stay forward,” she pushed his head into place, close to the way he had been before.</p><p>“You hit me?” his voice was nasally.</p><p>“No — what’d you do, fall asleep? This is a lake!” she exclaimed, dropping several more tissues on top of the mess.</p><p>“Dry I guess.” He started to take the tissues away.</p><p>“Stay put.” Dani’s hand covered his.</p><p>“Yes mrmr.”</p><p>“What was that?” Dani stopped cleaning to stare at him.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>Malcolm held his nose until the bleeding stopped.</p>
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<a name="section0082"><h2>82. giving up already?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He pulls the band tighter and Malcolm thwacks the floor. “Giving up already?” His warm breath meets Malcolm’s ear, bringing it fresh humidity.</p><p>“Guh,” is all that makes it out of Malcolm’s throat, his drool falling across the concrete.</p><p>The band somehow gets tighter still — an exercise band, yellow — is that the 10 or 20 pound resistance? Malcolm wheezes, neck released again.</p><p>“I bet your old man could do better,” callouses retorts.</p><p>Malcolm grits his teeth as the band stretches once more. His eyes pop from his face, lips tingle as he struggles to breathe. Vision tinged with black and fading fast, he wonders if this is the end.</p><p>He’d thought there’d be a little more cushioning.</p><p>A little less big, sweaty, calloused man doing his best Schwarzenegger impressions.</p><p>Malcolm pounds the floor as his throat whines for air.</p><p>Release.</p><p>“Again? Okay.” Callouses tightens the reins again.</p>
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<a name="section0083"><h2>83. jolt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you know what happens when I touch these to your skin?” the overalled man held up a pair of jumper cables connected to a running Jeep.</p><p>“I rival Christmas time in my Brightness? A little zzz-zuh-zzz to spark my day?” Malcolm rattled, chattery under the man’s stern gaze. The man’s knee lay firmly across Malcolm’s middle, Malcolm’s hands tied behind his back.</p><p>“I think he likes it,” overalls said over his shoulders to another man beside the Jeep.</p><p>The sunlight was way too bright for Malcolm’s eyes, his heart thudding in his chest, his skin bubbling with perspiration. His flush could have rivaled arousal.</p><p>“Let’s try this right here,” the man lowered one end of the cable toward him.</p><p>The Jeep lurched forward, catching the other man underneath it in a howling wail. The jolt of electricity never came — the attempt to kill Malcolm failed.</p><p>Malcolm scurried away enough to safely stretch and reach into his pocket. “Gil, I need backup,” Malcolm explained.</p><p>A call somewhat late, but not forgotten.</p>
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<a name="section0084"><h2>84. daze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His eyes waver from the kitchen to the living room, back to the kitchen, not a single spot he can sit.</p><p>“I’ve got you — whatever you need,” Malcolm says, holding the top of his arm.</p><p>“I want my home back,” Gil complains, but it comes out more like deep regret.</p><p>“There’s any food you can possibly want,” Malcolm offers, trying to be helpful.</p><p>Gil shakes his head, looking over the seats again.</p><p>“You’d make me eat something,” Malcolm attempts a different tactic.</p><p>“Water.”</p><p>It’s the only thing Gil seems to identify with.</p><p>Malcolm fills him a pint and hands it over, eager to bring him something. The glass slips on the exchange, crashing liquid and shards among their feet.</p><p>Tears pool at the bottom of Gil’s eyes, swimming in the drink. “I’m sorry.” He takes a breath. “Nothing’s right.” And he disappears into the bedroom.</p><p>Malcolm clears the shattered memories from the hardwood.</p>
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<a name="section0085"><h2>85. beg</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re going to have to ask real nicely.”</p><p>“C-can I please have my ball back?” Malcolm wiggled in his seat.</p><p>“What kind of ball, baby?”</p><p>“D-d-d, my stress ball. <em>Please</em>,“ Malcolm begged, all of his anxieties coming out in sweat that drenched his body.</p><p>“Please, what?”</p><p>“Can I p-please have my stress ball?” Malcolm tried again. He didn’t know what he could say to get what he wanted. What he <em>needed</em>.</p><p>“This?” He held it out in front of him, a few drops of light absorbing into the matte finish.</p><p>Malcolm reached for the red ball, his hand jittering with the pounding in his chest, and the man pulled it back.</p><p>The man cackled, his stretched lips taking pleasure in Malcolm’s pain that bled through every twitching inch of his body.</p><p>“<em>I need my stress ball</em>,” Malcolm cried, the nervous shake overtaking his breathing.</p><p>“If you ask real nicely, my boy.”</p>
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<a name="section0086"><h2>86. you're pretty when you cry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm shivered under the moonlight, not dressed for the temperature, or it was his anxiousness slowly taking over, or was it the fact he was tied to a plastic yellow slide with jumpropes, the only occupant on the playground in the middle of the night?</p><p>Probably not the tears that froze to his face as soon as they started to drip out of his eyes, frosty trails reflecting the only light on the dismal December night.</p><p>Heavy footsteps shook the entire slide as someone climbed up the ladder. “Let’s see if this’ll help you remember,” a man said, the first time Malcolm realized a man was keeping him occupied.</p><p>A rumbling roll gathered steam and connected with the top of his head in a thud, then thunking his shoulder and dropping over the side to the ground. Malcolm’s head lolled to his collarbone, an explosion of pain bursting behind his eyes.</p><p>Footsteps walked and picked up the object, the moon reflected in its side. “So pretty when you cry.” Calloused fingers brushed Malcolm’s cheek, but he was too caught up in getting his wits about him to shrug away. “Let’s go again, shall we?” the man said, carrying the bowling ball back to the stairs.</p><p>Tink — tonk — tink — tonk — rrrrrrr — <em>thud</em>.</p><p>The man’s voice got closer, moistened his ear. “You’re a thickheaded one, huh?”</p>
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<a name="section0087"><h2>87. reload</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That’s not fair, man — ya gotta give me a second to reload,” JT complained.</p><p>“Everyone knows you fire and collect. Collect a little faster,” Malcolm suggested.</p><p>Ping — ping — pop hit over JT’s head. He scrambled blindly with his left hand to pick up more ammo. The foam squished between his fingers, and he loaded the darts back into the modified nerf machine gun as fast as he could.</p><p>Malcolm seemed to have the same idea, hoarding the darts as fast as he could find them, taking cover half behind the conference table and half sweeping stray darts toward him. </p><p>Tap — one hit off JT’s forehead. Clip — one hit JT’s chest. Zing, whip, “<em>Shit</em>,” one hit Malcolm just below the eye. A ra-ta-tapping of foam and plastic firing across neutral ground.</p><p>Gil walked into the conference room to a barrage of suction cup darts stuck to the whiteboard and regular darts scattered all over the floor. “I don’t even wanna know,” he said, shook his head, and slipped back out.</p><p>JT rapid fired several darts into Malcolm’s chin. “Remembering to call for backup yet?”</p><p>Malcolm shot an array of darts right back, catching JT near the ear. “Nope.”</p><p>They didn’t pledge a ceasefire until Tally called wondering why JT wasn’t home yet.</p>
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<a name="section0088"><h2>88. just a scratch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It tingled under his skin, a desire for something stronger that would quench his demon mind and draw him to sleep.</p><p>First, a little bit more whiskey. Mixed with his pills, he got slightly more tipsy, tipped toward a world of buzz fuzzed into his sheets.</p><p>But it tasted like his mother.</p><p>He scratched a little deeper, digging for days of prescription sedatives, pills many doctors had tried to get him to take, but he’d often refused. What was the use if he still woke up screaming?</p><p>They failed to turn his thoughts off in the night.</p><p>Gouging for anything that would bring relief, he tipped illegal next, his preparation laid out on the counter in place of the breakfast he never ate. Went about his day pretending he’d actually had a dreamless sleep. Or any sleep.</p><p>“What is that?” Gil grabbed Malcolm’s arm over drinks in his study.</p><p>“Just a scratch.”</p>
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<a name="section0089"><h2>89. xiphoid process</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re going to give him a lacerated diaphragm!” Edrisa complained, watching one of her community workshop participants give CPR.</p><p>She kept walking around the room. “Yours has a punctured liver!” she pointed to another participant who had started laughing at the first.</p><p>She returned to the front of the room, pulling her coat tight around her. “Does anyone know what the xiphoid process is?” She didn’t get an answer, so she continued, “It’s a sharp, pointy cartilage right here.” She felt at the juncture of her rib cage.</p><p>The gaggle of early teens laughed. “Do it. Push right here.” She repeated the motion and eventually got the room to try the same. “You snap that, you really hurt someone. Now move your hands up a little bit.” She cued <em>Stayin’ Alive</em> to start playing again. “Now keep Bright alive.”</p><p>They all continued practicing CPR on their dummies while she danced between them, checking their work.</p>
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<a name="section0090"><h2>90. liability</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm hung from the 22nd story of a high rise in a window washing basket, a carabiner clipped into his belt, the worse last ditch attempt at any semblance of safety.</p><p>“<em>Bright</em>! You’re a freakin’ liability! Get your ass down here!” Gil hollered.</p><p>From Gil’s position firmly on the ground, Malcolm couldn’t hear a word he said. Malcolm was too focused on shuffling one more floor down, going after their suspect.</p><p>“<em>You</em> are — you — “ he continued, but JT put his hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“ESU wants to know his approximate weight so they can setup a landing zone,” JT explained.</p><p>“<em>WHAT?</em>“ Gil was sure his eyes had rolled past his forehead and were out the back.</p><p>“A precaution,” JT added.</p><p>“I’m gonna kill him,” Gil said under his breath.</p><p>“You can have first go once we get him back down here in one piece.”</p><p>“Gotta find that freakin’ leash,” Gil grumbled and relayed the requested information to ESU.</p>
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<a name="section0091"><h2>91. exile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“My exile lasts two more days, Sunshine.” Malcolm ate a slice of banana. “What should we do?”</p><p>He held out a second piece of the banana for her to nibble on. “You want to go on adventures?”</p><p>He pet from her head, down across her back. “I <em>could</em> let you go visit upstairs.”</p><p>She rubbed her head against his hand.</p><p>“Maybe we could do belly races instead.” Malcolm reached to get another piece of banana for himself.</p><p>Sunshine hopped from his hand up to his shoulder, her nails poking through his sweater.</p><p>“Okay, okay, Sunshine,” he tried to get her to settle. “Helicopter?”</p><p>She cheeped right next to his ear, a sharp whistle into his head. “Okay, girl.”</p><p>He walked over to a basket to get her a toy that she could play with and spin around. She left his shoulder to drop onto the floor next to it. “Sunshine, helicopter,” he encouraged, spinning around with his arms out.</p><p>Sunshine flew around in a circle, watching over her human.</p>
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<a name="section0092"><h2>92. malignant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The kitchen doesn’t smell of dinner’s warm tendrils reaching for his nose before he enters the room. Doesn’t have cheery tones laughing and giggling inside as he puts his key into the door and lets himself in. Doesn’t have Jackie and Gil racing to greet him as soon as the door clicks.</p><p>Malcolm looks up, and they’re both waiting at the kitchen table with mugs of tea they don’t drink. Their eyes look like his, dark and sleepless, burdened with more than one should ever have to bear. It’s not them. He’s opened the the door to the wrong house. Broken into the wrong kitchen.</p><p>Another intruder got there first.</p><p>“Sit down, kid,” Gil says.</p><p>Malcolm doesn’t remember how feet work. His bag drops beside him. Air fills his chest until it threatens to burst and add Bright paint to the living room.</p><p>“J-just tell me,” Malcolm pleads.</p><p>“Come sit,” Jackie requests.</p><p>He hears every tap and slide of his shoes across the hardwood. Sees yesterday’s page still up on the <em>Calvin and Hobbes</em> calendar. Catches the tissue peeking through Jackie’s fingers. Thuds into a cushioned wood chair that gores through him like sharpened steel.</p><p>“We have something to tell you,” Jackie says, taking his hand in hers.</p><p>Whatever it is, everything is different.</p>
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<a name="section0093"><h2>93. rescue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil had promised Bright a rescue. Tied into a culvert from a buried river, the team had to figure out which one in order to save him. The captor had left him in a lover’s lane of sorts, relying on the inclement weather to do the rest of his dirty work.</p><p>They triangulated Bright’s phone and showed up with a dive team, who made their way in.</p><p>But the water kept rising.</p><p>None of them had any umbrellas up — the torrential downpour made it pointless.</p><p>“Boss, they’ve got this,” Dani encouraged, Gil pacing back and forth.</p><p>“Sure the guy’s giving them an earful,” JT added.</p><p>The culvert kept filling.</p><p>“C’mon, <em>Bright</em>,” Gil leaked his mantra into the air.</p><p>Legs shaking from his nerves made it difficult to stay standing, so Gil crouched, Dani and JT flanking either side of him in case he needed help.</p><p>Waiting. Raining. Raining.</p><p>“We’ve got a visual,” a shout came over the radio.</p><p>They all held their breath, waiting for confirmation that there had been enough air left at the top, that they’d gotten there in time. They’d moved as fast as they could, broken their own record of fastest arrival time.</p><p>“It’s a phone.”</p>
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<a name="section0094"><h2>94. xenophobia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Your people can’t go on my space!” Malcolm complains, hands on his hips.</p><p>“That’s racist,” JT accuses.</p><p>“Xenophobic,” Malcolm corrects.</p><p>Malcolm’s hand shakes over the board in excitement, ready to push all of JT’s pieces back.</p><p>“Improper handling of a RISK turn!” Energy shoots through Malcolm’s whole body and he knocks over JT’s pieces, accidentally tipping the whole RISK board to the ground.</p><p>JT looks between the colorful smattering all over the floor and Malcolm’s face. Maybe a board game had been a bad idea.</p><p>“They’re not people, they’re soldiers,” JT corrects. “Now pick ‘em up and show ‘em some respect.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, JT.” Malcolm rubs one hand over his face, the other one pointing at the mess.</p><p>“It’s RISK — I’m allowed to invade your country,” JT snips and leaves the room.</p>
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<a name="section0095"><h2>95. zero in</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ve got eyes on the target.”</p><p>“Location?”</p><p>“Heading north. Three blocks south of my twenty.”</p><p>“Armed?”</p><p>“Yes. Grey suit, blue coat.”</p><p>“Speed?”</p><p>“Hobbling. Two blocks south. I’m in position.”</p><p>“Take him out.”</p><p>JT shot down the street and grabbed Malcolm’s crutch, putting him off balance against the other one. He used his arm to stop Malcolm from falling and tipped him into Gil’s open car door when he pulled up.</p><p>“This isn’t fair!” Malcolm protested.</p><p>JT closed the door and walked back into the precinct, leaving Gil to deal with taking him back home.</p>
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<a name="section0096"><h2>96. thrown to the wolves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You — you can’t do this! I’m taking my meds, I’m — “ Malcolm pleaded, pulled along by Gil.</p><p>“Bright, you know this is out of my control.”</p><p>“But I’m <em>fine</em>!” Malcolm yells as they breach the precinct doors back to outside.</p><p>“Kid, I know you’re managing. I’m trying to make sure you don’t get thrown to the wolves.” Gil rubbed the back of his neck, guiding him toward the sidewalk.</p><p>“What’d I do?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“What’d they say I did?”</p><p>“They’re asking for a mental health evaluation.”</p><p>“It’s not their business,” Malcolm scoffed.</p><p>“I know, kid. Let’s get you home.”</p><p>“They do know I can sue?”</p><p>“Home.”</p>
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<a name="section0097"><h2>97. narrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few feet from the rooftop patio to the next, perfect for someone who had significantly more plants or any will to keep them alive. Most days, it was abandoned, a case or anything else really, significantly more interesting.</p><p>But summer nights bred fun.</p><p>And Gil had certainly told Malcolm to have some.</p><p>Gil just might not have been thinking roof jumping.</p><p>Malcolm took a running start and launched himself off the ledge, his feet landing on the ledge of the next building and tumbling forward onto his hands. He pushed up from his knees and dusted himself off with a wild grin. Not too bad.</p><p>He ran across the next, same goal in mind, catapulting onto asphalt and skidding across his shins. His eyes found the dusk too bright, so excited by his newfound hobby.</p><p>His phone buzzed in his pants. “Hey, Gil,” he beamed, settling his breathing.</p><p>“Where are you? I have beer and Monopoly to keep you busy.”</p><p>“Upstairs — I’ll be right down.”</p><p>“Why do I hear you?”</p><p>Malcolm spotted Gil on the ground just about the time Gil found his figure.</p><p>“<em>Bright!</em>“</p><p>“I’m coming down,” Malcolm rushed out and put his phone back in his zippered pocket.</p><p>Malcolm launched himself at the rooftop back toward his loft. “<em>The stairs!</em>“ Gil boomed from the sidewalk.</p><p>Malcolm made the hop back to his rooftop and ducked back inside, knowing he was about to get an earful.</p>
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<a name="section0098"><h2>98. infect</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just like Malcolm’s verve for a solve rallied the team around accomplishing a common purpose, his panic was equally infectious.</p><p>“W-what if he died in the ambulance on the way here?” Malcolm paced in front of the row of chairs.</p><p>“We wouldn’t be sitting here waiting,” Dani pointed out.</p><p>“What if h-he’s dead on the table and they just haven’t told us yet.”</p><p>“That nurse — “ JT pointed. “ — is Tally’s best friend. As soon as there’s <em>any</em> update, he’ll be back.”</p><p>“What if I…killed him?” Malcolm stilled, his unrest broken for just a moment.</p><p><em>Thwack</em>, Malcolm’s fist hit his head. <em>Thwap</em>, his other joined in. JT and Dani scrambled to grab onto him, their panic rising in frantic eyes between the two of them. JT held his wrists and Dani hugged him, trying to get through to him. “Bright, Bright — it’s gonna be okay,” Dani soothed, rocking and trying to bring him back to them.</p><p>His fight draining, his knees gave out and she sat on the floor with him, Dani waving off JT’s hold. “It’s gonna be okay,” she repeated.</p><p>She and JT locked eyes, hoping it was the truth. Her heart pounded waiting for any answers, the questions resting quietly against her.</p>
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<a name="section0099"><h2>99. vouch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We can all vouch for him,” JT pointed out.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Dani rebutted. “They already labeled him.”</p><p>“It’s not fair.”</p><p>Dani shook her head, echoing the no.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter he takes meds. He’d be the first to tell anyone that if he was standing right there.” JT gestured at the empty space normally occupied by the profiler.</p><p>Gil stood quietly at the end of the table.</p><p>“Gil, we have to fight this,” JT indicated, raising his voice.</p><p>Gil ran his hand over his goatee. “I have to go.”</p><p>“Gil — “ Dani objected.</p><p>“Write up your supporting statements,” Gil instructed, walking for the door. “There’s something more important than him being here.”</p><p>They both glared back at him with <em>what?</em> all over their faces.</p><p>“His life.” Gil disappeared from the precinct in search of the kid toiling worse than all of them.</p>
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<a name="section0100"><h2>100. clack</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm woke to rattling clicks in the corner of his bedroom. Chattering clacks and the curtain swinging back and forth at the window. He undid his cuffs and padded around the bed to the sill, a fluffy brown tail quirking back and forth at him.</p><p>“Boo, what’re you doing in here,” Malcolm scritched her back at the base of her tail.</p><p>Boo’s conversation continued out the window in a pattering code he couldn’t decipher.</p><p>“Did you make a bird friend?” he wondered, seeing if he could spot feathers.</p><p>He ran his hand up her back and gave her a deep scratch behind the head, finally getting a little nudge of attention from her jaw.</p><p>“Breakfast’s ready,” Jackie announced from the doorway.</p><p>Malcolm picked up the ball of fluff and headed for the door, four paws all scrambling at the same time trying to get loose.</p><p>“I’ve got her.” Gil took Boo from him, resting her high on his chest. His other hand ruffled Malcolm’s hair. “What’s it gonna be today, kid?”</p><p>Malcolm shrugged.</p><p>“I made you blueberry pancakes,” Jackie revealed.</p><p>Malcolm shared a bright grin with the two of them and followed to the kitchen.</p>
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<a name="section0101"><h2>101. knock knock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Knock knock.”</p><p>A staff rapped the back of Malcolm’s chair.</p><p>“I <em>said</em> knock knock.”</p><p>“Who’s there?” Malcolm managed, his words gravelly.</p><p>“Tarmel.”</p><p>The staff thwacked again when Malcolm didn’t respond.</p><p>“My favorite candy,” the man answered his own question. “Knock knock,” the words came faster with a preemptive crack.</p><p>“W-who’s there?”</p><p>“Tally.”</p><p>Malcolm swallowed. “Tally who?”</p><p>“Three, four — how many of you was it going to take for you to realize she was missing?” he growled.</p><p>“Don’t — “</p><p>“Knock knock.” The staff smacked across his shins and he wailed in pain.</p><p>“Who’s there?” he got out between winces.</p><p>“JT.”</p><p>“Jerome, Jeremiah, Jed — I really have no idea,” Malcolm met the litany of twisted jokes with defiance.</p><p>The staff crunched across his chest, taking his air. “Watch your trap, or I start breaking Arroyo next,” the man threatened. On a deep sigh, he resumed, “Knock knock.”</p>
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<a name="section0102"><h2>102. email</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm didn’t even get to take his coat off before Gil had him by the arm and was dragging him toward his office. Gil popped the door closed behind him, rattling the blinds.</p><p>“Would you like to explain this?” Gil hit Malcolm’s chest with a sheet of paper he picked up from his desk.</p><p>Malcolm quirked his eyebrows.</p><p>“Forty-seven, kid? Forty-seven?” Gil said in exasperation.</p><p>“I may have missed a few emails,” Malcolm admitted. “It’s not like paperwork is my strong suit.”</p><p>“And yet we wouldn’t be here if that was the only problem.” Gil pulled the paper out of his hands.</p><p>“I messed up.”</p><p>“Hades@nyc.gov will take your request?” Gil shook the paper in ire that he even had to have this conversation.</p><p>“I — “</p><p>“Straight and to the point, no emotion,” Gil cited the code of conduct to guide them all away from making mistakes that would bite them in an audit.</p><p>“Gil — “</p><p>“Go apologize and give them the damn file they requested,” Gil demanded.</p><p>At a flare of Gil’s eyes, Malcolm shrank out the door, a tail of shame trailing after him.</p>
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<a name="section0103"><h2>103. stay down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Shh, shh — stay down,” Malcolm encouraged, checking the rest of the room.</p><p>They were all plunged in darkness, taking cover behind every chair and table they could find. Feet stuck out the end of a table, hair out the top of a chair, some heads still visible from the window.</p><p>“<em>Hide</em>,” Malcolm pleaded in a whisper, panicking that someone would be seen. That someone would spoil the —</p><p>“<em>SURPRISE!</em>“ everyone yelled and popped up as Gil opened the door. Gil stilled in the entryway, taking in the dozen people in his place.</p><p>“Happy 60th,” JT congratulated and patted his shoulder.</p><p>Gil didn’t move, seemingly unsure what to do.</p><p>“Whiskey?” Dani handed him a glass.</p><p>Gil smiled and took it. “Where’s Bright?”</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes appeared blown wide in excitement. “Did you know at all? Did you?”</p><p>“No.” Gil chuckled and rubbed the back of Malcolm’s neck. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”</p><p>“Dude was treating it like a lockdown,” JT shared.</p><p>“Hey — “ Malcolm complained.</p><p>“Impressive,” JT passed Malcolm a beer.</p><p>“I’ll take that.” Dani intercepted it when she caught the look on Malcolm’s face. “Another whiskey comin’ up.” She walked away to get a drink for Malcolm.</p><p>“You and I are gonna have to talk about uses of my house.” Gil raised his eyebrows at Malcolm and took a swig of his drink.</p><p>Malcolm chuckled and stepped back so Gil could greet the rest of the room.</p>
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<a name="section0104"><h2>104. my kid is in there</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Wonder Wheel was supposed to be Malcolm’s first introduction to Coney Island. Gil and Malcolm had watched it from afar walking the boardwalk, talking about whether they would get hotdogs later. Had decided that Gil would get a New York style dog, and Malcolm would maybe eat a little when they went back home. Had considered the rainbow of different cars, purposely selecting one of the fixed ones so Malcolm wouldn’t go spinning.</p><p>“Watch me — take a picture,” Malcolm had asked and Gil had stayed behind on the ground.</p><p>A year and a half, and the kid had come so far. Gil had watched him get closed into one of the cars and stood smiling at his ascent, snapping a few photos of the moment. He lined up another shot, and the ferris wheel stopped.</p><p>“Stop playing with the gate,” one of the attendants yelled. They had an impeccable safety record and automatic shutoffs for tampering.</p><p>Gil walked back toward the entryway, a child’s screams reaching his ears. Bloodcurdling — /Malcolm’s/ screams.</p><p>The ride started up again before Gil reached an attendant. “My kid is in there,” Gil said a bit strongly and pointed toward the ride. “He’s upset.”</p><p>“He’s safe. Another kid triggered the shutoff — we’re getting him down now,” the attendant explained. “Four minutes.”</p><p>It was the longest four minutes of Gil’s life listening to Malcolm howl and not being able to do anything. As soon as they had Malcolm’s car back to the ground, Gil ignored the other riders pushing out and scooped up his kid, cradling his head into his chest. “You’re safe. We’re going home,” Gil soothed, brushing his hair.</p><p>Malcolm’s tiny body shuddered in his arms. “Bbbbx,” Malcolm stammered, his tears filling Gil’s shirt.</p><p>Gil strode for his car, his chest paining to bring Malcolm anywhere he felt safe.</p>
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<a name="section0105"><h2>105. hoarse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m a hoarse whisperer,” Malcolm explained, taking another sip of water.</p><p>“There’s no way you’ve ridden a horse,” Dani rebutted.</p><p>JT rubbed his fingers together. “Money. He was hiding ballet, maybe this is his second hidden talent,” JT considered. “But man, what’s that got to do with who axed our vic?”</p><p>“Not the animal,” Malcolm scratched out, failing to recover any more of his voice.</p><p>“You sound like shit,” Dani remarked.</p><p>“I’m hoarse,” he reiterated, downing more of his drink. “All that whispering you made me do at the scene.”</p><p>“I believe I asked for quiet,” JT corrected. “And you’re mixing idioms.” JT tapped him with a case file.</p><p>Malcolm gave him a skeptical look, ready to challenge. “I had to talk out my profile,” Malcolm defended.</p><p>“So what is it?”</p><p>“I don’t know yet.”</p><p>JT shared an exasperated look with Dani. “Quit horsing around,” JT replied and walked off. “There’s lozenges in Gil’s desk,” he called over his shoulder.</p>
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<a name="section0106"><h2>106. dread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm needed to pick up his phone. Press a few buttons. Say a couple words and be done.</p><p>But he couldn’t even reach for the nightstand.</p><p>So an hour went by. His phone buzzed a few times.</p><p>Another, and the buzzing got more insistent, trying to shake into his brain that yes, <em>yes</em> he could reach the few feet and pick it up.</p><p>But the distance between his mind and the cavern he’d have to cross to get to the nightstand was too great. Obstacles were unknown, yet ever-present at the same time.</p><p>He didn’t know when, but the caller came to him. Gil let himself in and sat on the edge of his bed.</p><p>“I can’t do it today,” Malcolm admitted in words he didn’t know whether escaped his head.</p><p>“That’s alright.” Gil rested a hand on his shoulder, bridging him back to land.</p>
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<a name="section0107"><h2>107. thankless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mother, what are you doing here?”</p><p>“Everything in your apartment has been repaired, and they even built out a new cage for Sunshine.” Jessica gestured to the monstrosity of a cage now taking up the entire space underneath his stairs. “If you’re going to insist on keeping the damn bird, she might as well live to your standards.”</p><p>“Your standards, Mother,” Malcolm corrected, flabbergasted over the invasion to his loft.</p><p>“I can have him come back, make you a nice dining room table,” Jessica continued.</p><p>“No,” Malcolm said firmly, quickly halting any more unwelcome additions to his space.</p><p>“Well, you could at least thank me,” Jessica scoffed, crossing her arms over her stomach</p><p>“With a new set of locks?” Malcolm returned.</p><p>Jessica gave a huff and walked out. “I’m still open to franchising opportunities!” she called over her shoulder.</p>
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<a name="section0108"><h2>108. don't touch me / drag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Dude, stop being such a drag. Eat lunch with us,” an officer offered in the break room.</p><p>Malcolm reached into the refrigerator for one of his seltzers. A hand came down onto his shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled and spun around, finding Gil’s sweater, then his concerned eyes.</p><p>Malcolm swallowed and the officer handed him the bottle of seltzer he had dropped. “Thanks. Maybe another time,” Malcolm said quietly, looking at the floor.</p><p>“C’mon,” Gil said, gesturing at the door.</p><p>They walked back to Gil’s office and Malcolm opened his seltzer, a cascade of bubbles and water spewing all over the carpet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Malcolm panicked, looking for napkins.</p><p>“Sit and drink,” Gil directed to the couch and pulled paper towels out of his desk.</p><p>Gil dragged a wad of paper towels over the floor, sopping up the mess.</p><p>“It’s the nightmares,” Malcolm’s voice shook. “I haven’t slept…” he trailed off.</p><p>“I can take you home. Or you can lay down and take a rest.”</p><p>Malcolm’s knee bobbed, his foot bouncing on the carpet. “Maybe a few minutes.”</p><p>Gil nodded. “I can leave. Turn the lights out for you.”</p><p>“Stay?” Malcolm requested.</p><p>“Sure, kid.”</p>
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<a name="section0109"><h2>109. listless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eve floated across the floor at the perfect angelic distance, just far enough up so her gossamer swaths didn’t touch, only trailed around her. Raised her up onto a pedestal a head taller than Malcolm, taking over his loft like her own, inhabiting every corner with her glimmering face and freshly kissed lips.</p><p>“Please don’t stay,” Malcolm pleaded in a whisper to the ceiling.</p><p>A glass of whiskey sat near his hand and his whole body lay out on the wood before the living room. In full view of every part of his loft, all the more opportunity for Eve to find him.</p><p>She looked so happy gliding around, not speaking, always reaching for him, trying to reconnect. His lips chilled when he lifted his head for another sip.</p><p>“Don’t,” a watery plea fell from his mouth.</p><p>He swallowed another taste of her, unable to free himself.</p>
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<a name="section0110"><h2>110. methodical</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Scream.</p><p>Morning music.</p><p>Spit out his mouthguard.</p><p>Clip, clip out of cuffs’ hold.</p><p>Slip them off his wrists.</p><p>Turn off the stereo.</p><p>Slip the cover off her cage.</p><p>“Good morning, Sunshine.”</p><p>But after another turbulent day turned night, it’s —</p><p>Scream.</p><p>Twist.</p><p>Scream.</p><p>Shaking.</p><p>Scream.</p><p>Sweats soaking every inch of the covers failing to protect him.</p><p>Ripping one wrist out of the cuff, skinning his hand.</p><p>Violently shooting up in the darkness, blanketed with confusion of another missing.</p><p>His mouthguard lost somewhere in the covers.</p><p>Unbuckling the other wrist.</p><p>Dropping to the floor.</p><p>Howling in mourning hours before the dawn.</p><p>The days continue on.</p>
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<a name="section0111"><h2>111. obey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Step forward.”</p><p>“What?” Malcolm asked, puzzled.</p><p>“Step forward,” JT repeated.</p><p>“I don’t wanna hit the lava,” Malcolm urged, stress melting into his voice.</p><p>“We’ve got you — we’ll get you out of here safely,” Dani promised.</p><p>“Forward,” JT directed.</p><p>Malcolm took a tentative step, sure his soles were about to disintegrate.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Good, good. One more,” JT said.</p><p>“Really?” Sweat fell from Malcolm’s brow at the prospect of moving closer.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” JT sighed in frustration. “Will you just trust me?”</p><p>“I have issues with that.”</p><p>“You think?”</p><p>Malcolm took a baby step, giving JT half his trust.</p><p>“Now take one more of those.”</p><p>Malcolm grumbled unintelligibly, any words he might mouth would get him in trouble.</p><p>“Turn ninety degrees to your left,” Gil’s voice sounded from the other side.</p><p>“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Malcolm complained some more, yet pivoted as instructed.</p><p>“Now five steps. Five. Count them. Nice and straight.”</p><p>Malcolm couldn’t see anything. Heat enveloped his whole body, his suit soaked with moisture. This was it. He was going to die. He would step into the lava and die — die — <em>die</em>.</p><p>He tripped over his foot in his panic and fell sideways, tipping into the lava.</p><p>Gil ripped the blindfold off Malcolm’s head, Malcolm finding the whole team standing over him.</p><p>“You’re dead again, man,” JT shared, offering him a hand up.</p><p>Malcolm groaned, yet accepted the help.</p><p>“Go back to the start and let’s try this team builder again,” Gil ordered.</p><p>It was a <em>long</em> day of falling in lava before Malcolm found his way out.</p>
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<a name="section0112"><h2>112. crush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm listened to his mother.</p><p>The first mistake.</p><p>Or perhaps the true inception was admitting he was something less than fine.</p><p>“I’m a little anxious,” he admitted when she scanned him in her dining room. The truth was he’d been in and out of panic attacks all day and he was outright exhausted.</p><p>That got him a fast pass out of the house instead of a place at the table. Thoughts of <em>he never should have left home</em> tussled with <em>she would have come and found him</em>.</p><p>“I’ve got just the thing,” his mother had shared. “You need a good hug.”</p><p>But she wasn’t the one to give it to him. Not that he really wanted it anyway.</p><p>Brought into an upscale massage parlor mimicking the Amazon, he wound up face first in the squeeze machine, ass and feet sticking out the back. Steady pressure pushed into his sides, giving him a crushing, continuous hug.</p><p>It was calming. She was not wrong.</p><p>He just wished he felt up to a real one.</p>
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<a name="section0113"><h2>113. latchkey child</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There once was a man from New York<br/>who was more than your typical dork.<br/>He caught lots of flies<br/>with magnificent eyes<br/>and bopped them away with Dad’s spork.</p><p>He spent many days home alone<br/>but didn’t get caught on the phone.<br/>Looked in a box,<br/>not filled with rocks,<br/>but a girl who lingered ’til grown.</p><p>There’s a tiresome guy named Bright<br/>Gil can’t let out of his sight.<br/>Gets into trouble,<br/>that silly stubble<br/>grins away in foolish delight.</p><p>Call for backup’s a voyaging farce<br/>when he’s keen to get kicked in the arse.<br/>Papa Gil wins the prize —<br/>a white-knighting drive<br/>left mottled, splendiferous art.</p><p>Spending days as father and son<br/>at the precinct, more battles are won.<br/>One has the smile,<br/>other’s been there awhile,<br/>knows every trick to keep him from harm.</p>
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<a name="section0114"><h2>114. glub glub</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Can you hear that?” Nikes paused. “The sound of — “</p><p>Himself sputtering, choking. Enough of Malcolm’s face underwater to drown him, but not enough to cover his ears.</p><p>Funny how drowning in a shallow bucket worked.</p><p>Only needed a few inches.</p><p>The bucket pulled away, Malcolm’s prone form left strapped into the repurposed massage table.</p><p>“Shall we go again?” Nikes asked, clearly enjoying his monologue.</p><p>Malcolm’s face plunged back in, gurgling coming first as breath escaped him, then the fiery glub, glub of water making it into his lungs.</p><p>“Such a pleasant orchestra.”</p><p>The bucket dropped, Malcolm coughing spit up onto the tile. The rush of more water refilling the bucket hissed in the background while he tried to find his breath.</p><p>What was the way out of this?</p><p>Whoosh, glug, glug, bubble.</p><p>Nikes.</p><p>On endless repeat.</p>
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<a name="section0115"><h2>115. enrage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, you’re Whitly’s kid,” a man stopped Malcolm on the street on his way back from lunch.</p><p>“I think you’re mistaken,” Malcolm said and kept walking, the precinct in sight down the block.</p><p>“No — no, it’s you. Always came to visitation in suits,” the man persisted, following him.</p><p>“Sir, I’m not sure what you want.” Anything that started with Whitly couldn’t be good.</p><p>A few more feet and he could run up the stairs inside.</p><p>“Nicholas sends his regards,” the man sneered and punched him in the kidney.</p><p>Malcolm dropped, his hands breaking his fall against the concrete stairs. A burst of pain shot through his side, his wrists and elbows taking the brunt so he didn’t crack his skull. Endicott? The man was dead, what did he want with Malcolm in the afterlife? Who was following him? Malcolm turned his head trying to find his attacker —</p><p>And discovered JT tackling him. They were both sprawled out on the ground, JT reaching for his cuffs.</p><p>“Whitly, always getting others to do his dirty work,” the man complained.</p><p>“That’s <em>enough</em>,” JT growled, getting the man to standing. Flipping his tone to soft, considerate, he asked Malcolm, “You good?”</p><p>Malcolm nodded. “Yeah.”</p><p>JT brought the man inside, taunts littering the stairs the whole way.</p>
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<a name="section0116"><h2>116. howl | hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one could find him in the closet. Stuffed behind all his shirts and jackets, shoved back as far as he could go, his face buried in many patterns of pants. He rocked in the dark, hoping space would bring him comfort nothing else could.</p><p>What started as a stray sob broke into a wailing howl ricocheting off the walls in the small space, the expensive material not enough to contain his anguish. He was sliced in half again, his forehead touching the floor over his knees.</p><p>“Malcolm?” A knock made it through the door.</p><p>He didn’t answer, preoccupied with holding himself as tight as he could and swaying on the floor.</p><p>A brush against the outside, and the voice continued. “I’m going to sit here until you’re ready to come out.”</p><p>Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours before Malcolm was able to shift from behind the racks, crawling his way over to the door and resting against it. “I’m okay, Gil,” he shared through the door, his voice thick with tears.</p><p>“I’m here when you’re ready,” Gil replied.</p><p>Neither of them moved, yet Malcolm could almost feel his support through the door.</p>
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<a name="section0117"><h2>117. xanax | you'll never learn | zeal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bring all three of them in, and I want to talk to them,” Malcolm instructed, pacing his loft while getting ready.</p><p>“Bright, we can’t bring in every potential just because you think they might be a suspect,” Gil argued.</p><p>“Then…invite them for coffee. Tea? Cascara fizz?” Malcolm rattled off with zeal. “Don’t really care as long as I get to talk to them.”</p><p>“<em>Malcolm — </em>“</p><p>“I’m a little up today, not — “</p><p>“A little?”</p><p>“Would you like to tell me why <em>my</em> front door has a fresh coat of yellow paint?” his mother boomed from behind him.</p><p>“Gil, I might have to go,” Malcolm warned. “Have them ready so I can talk to them.”</p><p>“What is this, Verona?” she continued as Malcolm took his pacing loop further away from her. “Take a xanax — don’t deface <em>my</em> building.”</p><p>“You’ll never learn, will you,” Gil retorted in his ear.</p><p>“Gotta run, mother,” Malcolm said, sprinting for his coat and whisking out the door.</p><p>“<em>Malcolm</em>, I will tell him no cases,” she yelled behind him.</p><p>“Which one of us is gonna remind her it doesn’t work that way,” Malcolm said into his phone.</p><p>“It’s about to work that way if you don’t come up with a better plan,” Gil responded. “Get down here.”</p>
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<a name="section0118"><h2>118. helplessness | rupture | antsy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not feeling so good wasn’t a signal to go to the doctor. Every day was on that spectrum. So a bit clammy, a bit crampy with a bloated tummy wasn’t a reason to worry.</p><p>Wasn’t like digestion was a thing that ever went normally. What was normal anyway? An ideal that didn’t exist that he taunted himself with just to say he was different — he’d never achieve it?</p><p>He bent over his chair at the precinct, held onto his stomach, retreated to the bathroom when over several hours, he only tipped worse. Worse in the <em>might be getting a little sick</em> sort of way, not yet reaching the <em>probably should head home</em> distinction.</p><p>His abdomen thrummed with pain that started with a dull existence and grew to a walloping punch if he pressed the right spot. Nothing, it was nothing. He walked back toward his desk, hand moving a mile a minute against his leg to distract himself from the discomfort.</p><p>“What’s got you so antsy?” Gil asked, pulling him into his office.</p><p>Malcolm tugged his arm back, replacing it against his stomach.</p><p>“Woah,” Gil commented, reaching for the back of his neck. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”</p><p>“It’s nothing.”</p><p>“Your appendix rupturing in my office is not going to be nothing,” Gil argued, steering him toward the exit, Malcolm helpless to argue any differently.</p><p>As Malcolm’s body screamed under his fingers in the passenger seat, he considered maybe something was wrong. In that <em>hopefully he could leave same day</em> sort of way, not the <em>emergency surgery pump him full of antibiotics</em> alternative.</p>
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<a name="section0119"><h2>119. abuse of authority | belittle | cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil turned up the heat and took off his seatbelt. “You stay here,” he directed to Malcolm. “That’s an order.”</p><p>“That’s abuse of your authority,” Malcolm said between chattering teeth.</p><p>“I don’t know <em>why</em> your body thinks it’s 32 degrees outside, but I’m sure as hell not bringing it in to infect everyone else,” Gil returned. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Gil exited the car into the 72 degree day and ran up the back stairs to the precinct. He grabbed the case files he needed so he could work from home, let JT know he was in charge in the precinct for the day, and hurried back to the car.</p><p>A Malcolm cocoon sat in the passenger seat, a sleeping back pulled up his full form. “Where’d you find that?” Gil asked.</p><p>“Trunk.”</p><p>“My snow emergency stuff.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Malcolm rubbed his forehead. “I think I need to eat something. Move around. My circulation’s off.”</p><p>Gil tried to reach across to see if he had a fever, but Malcolm swatted his hand away.</p><p>“Not necessary.”</p><p>He wasn’t trying to belittle him — just wanted to see what he was dealing with. “We’re going to work from my house.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Maybe you’ll be a beautiful butterfly by then,” Gil joked.</p><p>Malcolm rolled his eyes and ducked his head inside the sleeping bag.</p>
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<a name="section0120"><h2>120. are you ready? | karma | probe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Resting against the headboard, Malcolm probed his head wound, a pretty far cry from the probing the evening had started with.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Eve asked, holding a bag of frozen peas in front of her.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>She pressed the chill to his forehead, cradling the lump. Settling in beside him, she pulled the covers around them both. “I know you’ve got this whole serious thing going,” she started, rubbing his side where she had snaked her arm around his back. “But how exactly did this happen?” she snickered, unable to hold back her amusement.</p><p>“Heads and drywall don’t mix,” he muttered.</p><p>“Got that part.”</p><p>“Karmic retribution.”</p><p>“If your next words have anything to do with your father, you and I are gonna have words,” Eve warned.</p><p>“I got nothin’,” he conceded.</p><p>“Might have to get you a helmet,” she teased and kissed his cheek.</p><p>“I don’t think that’ll be — “</p><p>She pressed her lips to his, stopping any more complaints.</p>
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<a name="section0121"><h2>121. maddening | able | don't look at it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No one knew me before my father was arrested. Then everyone did.” Malcolm tipped back the last of his glass of whiskey.</p><p>“The team doesn’t care you had his name,” Gil reminded, refilling Malcolm’s glass from the bottle on his desk.</p><p>“I got used to everyone looking right through me on the street. Passing me by like every other person in New York.” Malcolm paced the short span between the windows to outside and in, not taking the second glass.</p><p>“Don’t look at it. Ignore the — “</p><p>“Billboards? All 340 feet in Times Square?” Malcolm glared at Gil in disbelief.</p><p>“Kid — “</p><p>“Did you know since my name got leaked to the press, I’ve died at least a dozen ways in my sleep?”</p><p>Gil would do anything to make that stop. But it was out of his control. He couldn’t.</p><p>“They’re not all terrible. Sometimes my father has a little more mercy and explains why he outed me before he ends it.” Malcolm took a swig from the glass and set it back on the wood. “Never able remember it in the daylight, though.”</p><p>Gil drank from his own glass, unsure there was really anything he could say to make the circumstances less malevolent.</p><p>“It’s maddening.” Malcolm squeezed the back of the chair when Gil knew he wanted to throw the glass through the window.</p><p>“Mad world,” Gil replied. All he could do was make sure Malcolm had enough familiar faces to help him manage.</p>
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<a name="section0122"><h2>122. ruin | i'll do anything | paternal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gil didn’t know what he thought he’d expected ordering Malcolm to go home.</p><p>On his knees in Gil’s office didn’t hit the top five.</p><p>“I’ll do anything,” Malcolm begged, his huge puppy dog eyes looking up at Gil.</p><p>At least the door was already closed. This display publicly would have required /a lot/ of explaining</p><p>“I’ll — I’ll file or peer review or go through cold cases or <em>anything</em> — you don’t have to pay me, just don’t send me — don’t — “ Malcolm blubbered.</p><p>Gil knelt down next to him, a paternal hand going to the back of his neck. “What’s going on, kid?”</p><p>“It’s not a good day.” He pressed his face into his hands, his digits jittering against it. “Please don’t send me home,” he whispered.</p><p>“Can I get you to a chair or the couch before you ruin your pants?” Gil asked.</p><p>Malcolm pushed himself up off the floor, and Gil guided his arm until he was sitting on the couch.</p><p>“You can stay in here,” Gil indicated. “Take a few minutes, and we can talk about it when I come back.”</p><p>“You’re not sending me — “</p><p>“No,” Gil reassured. “I’m gonna get you some paper towels and come right back. You okay for a minute?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Malcolm agreed.</p><p>Gil exited his office with a sigh, wondering what demon lurked beneath the surface.</p>
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<a name="section0123"><h2>123. entitled | keel over | guillotine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bright, it’s the Bronx Zoo. There is not an evil killer giraffe over the wall,” Gil chided, trying but failing to temper his jittery behavior.</p><p>A bird squawked in the distance and Malcolm jumped a mile. “I think I should go back to the car.”</p><p>“Let me keel over right here,” JT joked, laughing. “You, walking <em>away</em> from a scene?”</p><p>“The smells, the <em>sounds</em>, the hyenas antagonizing me foaming at the mouth to rip me to shreds,” Malcolm’s descriptions jumped from bad straight to the ninth circle of hell.</p><p>“There’s no hyenas here,” JT returned. “Those are lemurs.”</p><p>“I know the difference — “ Malcolm started to argue, but Dani stepped in.</p><p>“Bright’s entitled to his space,” Dani reminded, toeing the line of supportive and doing their job.</p><p>One look at a porcupine, and Malcolm’s blood froze like he was under an array of guillotines, damned no matter what path he chose. Gil met his eyes and took action, directing, “Go to the car.”</p><p>Malcolm didn’t make it five feet before another bird screeched and he got sick on the pavement.</p>
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<a name="section0124"><h2>124. tell me the truth | i just wanted to keep you safe | no problem</h2></a>
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    <p>Malcolm lay across his wood floor, arms reaching into the air around him. “I just wanted to keep you safe,” he whispered, fingers touching the stand for Sunshine’s cage, playing in the filigree. “I need you here.”</p><p>Stray tears ran toward his ears, the touch of metal not nearly as comforting as feathers. He hiccuped and pulled his hand back to cover a sob, accidentally knocking the stand in the process.</p><p><em>Cheep</em>. Sunshine woke from the disturbance. <em>Cheep, cheep</em>.</p><p>“I’m sorry, girl,” he soothed, rolling away.</p><p>He had tried being as near his beloved friend as he could, but he didn’t mean to bother her.</p><p>Curling into the countertop, he gripped the bottom of a stool instead. It didn’t have nearly the same effect.</p><p>“Tell me the truth, Malcolm,” Eve said from behind him. “Could you have saved me?”</p><p>He didn’t know. He had no idea what happened between New York and Connecticut. All he knew was she was gone. Gone gone. Dead.</p><p>His frame shook as her hand smoothed through his hair and down his back.</p><p>“I failed,” he admitted in the wee hours in his apartment.</p><p>“No problem,” Eve returned, huddling up behind him.</p><p>Sunshine woke him in the morning, demanding he care for her. The one friend he would never fail.</p>
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<a name="section0125"><h2>125. jam</h2></a>
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    <p>The sidewalk’s rhythm jammed into Malcolm’s feet, the rump-a-pump pattering through his heels to his shins, rattling into his knees. The trash can drums stuck with him into the precinct, his fingers tapping on his desk while he sipped a fresh mug of coffee and read his case notes.</p><p>Jammed into the back of the pile — a scrawl of <em>come see me</em>. He walked to Gil’s office and leaned against the door jamb. “You rang?” He pointed his coffee mug at the lieutenant.</p><p>“How late’d you stay last night?” Gil asked, peering at him.</p><p>The music rapped its way out of Malcolm’s body and into the metal. “Got caught in a bit of a jam tracking down the suspect — “</p><p>“<em>How</em> late?” Gil cut him off.</p><p>“Midnight.”</p><p>“Did you get any sleep?”</p><p>“Did you eat your toast with jam this morning?” Malcolm returned an equally rhetorical question.</p><p>Gil relented, leaving the topic alone. “What’s with the band?”</p><p>“I’m happy.”</p><p>“Care to elaborate?”</p><p>“Go outside. Sun is shining, music’s hot — just <em>be</em>.”</p><p>“Are you high?”</p><p>Malcolm shook his head. “Living.”</p><p>He walked back to his desk, rhythm dancing at the sides of his pants, a pleasant change from consuming anxiety.</p>
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<a name="section0126"><h2>126. dark | nightmare | relish</h2></a>
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    <p>The nightmare packed back into the steamer trunk, the whole thing went in Gil’s backseat. “I’ll take care of donating it,” he had said.</p><p>What would the new owner find when they opened it? Dark tendrils reaching for them, pulling them into its miserable depths? A haughty laugh teasing them they’d never get out again? Someone relishing how much damage they could cause without anyone the wiser?</p><p>Malcolm picked up his phone. “Maybe you should burn it.”</p><p>“Spending too much time around your mother?” Gil teased.</p><p>“Those demons are…lasting.”</p><p>“They’re not yours to carry anymore.”</p><p>When Gil ended the call, Malcolm sat in the empty space the trunk had occupied, the concrete stained around it. Layers of dust clung to his pants — remnants that trailed home with him.</p>
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<a name="section0127"><h2>127. drown | violate | treacherous</h2></a>
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    <p>Warm breaths hit his neck every other second, their stale air mixing into his oxygen. Pulls and hits at his pants, his feet, his shoes trampled with grey slip-ons. A couple too close behind him, their children bumping into him every other second.</p><p>“You’re violating my personal space!” Malcolm raised his voice, the crowd parting from around him in the café. Not even a second later, he muttered, “I’m sorry,” and dipped his head, leaving the building.</p><p>He needed to drown in something stronger than tea to take the edge off of being held at gunpoint a few minutes. It had been yesterday, but the hands lasted around his shoulders and neck.</p><p>In a treacherous decision, he strode for home instead of the precinct. If Gil cared what he was up to, he could find him. By the time he got there, Malcolm would be drunk, and the confrontation would lose its sting. And <em>call for backup</em> wouldn’t ring like the warning siren after a disaster.</p>
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<a name="section0128"><h2>128. grill | impassive | lake</h2></a>
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    <p>Ten paces from the grill to the lake.</p><p>Ten.</p><p>Another fifteen to the tree.</p><p>Enough distance so cooking wouldn’t disturb Malcolm’s sleep, yet within range so when he woke from his huddle underneath the tree, Gil could see.</p><p>Malcolm had only been asleep a few minutes. Enough for his face to turn impassive, whatever concerns that creased his face disappearing, whatever nightmares that lay in wait not having revealed themselves yet.</p><p>Fifteen paces flew in a split second when the kid woke, hauling ass for the water. Gil ran the last ten, yet had no hope of catching him. They both plunged into the lake, Malcolm’s arms thrashing as he popped back to the surface.</p><p>Gil grabbed his shoulders, and the struggling quickly stopped. “I’m awake!” Malcolm shared, his eyes wild.</p><p>Gil paused a moment, then let go, the two of them returning to the edge and walking out.</p><p>“I was on fire,” Malcolm revealed, wringing out his shorts.</p><p>Gil took a deep breath, metering his response. “That’s lunch.” Gil pointed at their barbecue that might have gotten overdone.</p><p>Malcolm gave a small nod. The two of them plated their food and returned to sit under the tree a little wetter, their day at the park well done.</p>
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<a name="section0129"><h2>129. vivisect | cracked | ransom</h2></a>
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    <p>“Dr. Martin Whitly was a father of two. His wife was of Milton lineage. They lived a well-to-do life…”</p><p><em>Hiding under everyone’s noses</em>, Malcolm added the eye-roll himself, the professor’s teachings droning into the background.</p><p>“One might argue his murders were research. Scientific experiments for…”</p><p>What?</p><p>“Some of his techniques were later proposed for adoption in the medical community, especially — “</p><p>“A psychopath’s murders are <em>not</em> research.” Malcolm stood, challenging the professor. “Twenty-three people <em>died</em>,” his voice cracked, and he swallowed. “Dr. Whitly was brash, manipulative. Traded his family’s happiness as ransom to a pharmaceutical giant. His tactics were inhumane, the stuff worst <em>nightmares</em> are made of.”</p><p>The vivisection of The Surgeon’s methods occurred with a sharp tongue, carving out every bit of fatherly figure that remained. Malcolm kept rattling off his distain for the man until a pair of dark eyes and a loud voice appeared in front of him. “<em>Mr. Bright, enough</em>,” the professor commanded.</p><p>Malcolm hurried out of the classroom, sure he’d never fit in that lecture again, just like he never felt at home in his mother’s house any longer.</p>
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<a name="section0130"><h2>130. jaw</h2></a>
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    <p>Malcolm was accustomed to Gil’s jaw dropping over things he said. “Just broke a few fingers,” it lowered a bit. “Moderately scathed,” it descended a bit more, letting the flies in. “I got hit by a car,” it hit the floor and needed near surgical intervention to get it to close again.</p><p>Malcolm found himself with his index finger under Gil’s chin to help him with the effort. Gil swatted his hand away. His mouth might have been closed, but his frown was still etched in his forehead along with a litany of words he was holding back.</p><p>“Hospital,” Gil ordered firmly. It wasn’t a shout or anger-tinged bark — just a statement of the reality that they would be taking a trip.</p><p>Malcolm didn’t want to. Not that he ever did. But Gil looked so…worried he agreed with a dip of his head. They walked together out of the precinct.</p><p>“What happened?” Gil asked, his hand on the back of Malcolm’s neck.</p><p>“Guy ran the light. Wasn’t going very fast. Just landed — “ Malcolm trailed off, deciding that detail wasn’t pertinent.</p><p>“Just what?”</p><p>“Landed on the windshield.”</p><p>There was that glare of disbelief again. “You’re not hobbling too badly.”</p><p>“I’m fine. Really.”</p><p>“I hope so.” Gil rubbed the hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s go.”</p>
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<a name="section0131"><h2>131. zonked</h2></a>
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    <p>Gil pulled a blanket from his shelf and quietly unfolded it. Malcolm was zonked out on his office couch, feet still flat on the floor, head tipped off to the side resting between the back and the arm. It was difficult for Gil to tally how many days it had been since Malcolm had gotten any sleep, but Malcolm’s body had reached the maximum counter and apparently given up, down for the count.</p><p>The blanket fluttered over Malcolm, slipping into place to bring him a comfort that would hopefully help him sleep longer. Gil wanted to rub the back of his neck, kiss the top of his head like he had done when Malcolm was a kid, but he didn’t want to disturb him. Checking all of the blinds were closed, Gil turned the lights off and slipped out of his office.</p><p>Gil’s new home for the rest of the afternoon was a desk next to his team. “Bright’s out, huh?” Dani commented, taking a sip of her tea.</p><p>“Yeah — trying to give him a quiet space.”</p><p>“Bets on who comes up with the best sleeping on the job joke?”</p><p>“JT. No contest.”</p><p>“What about me?” JT piped in.</p><p>“Best joke for Sleeping Beauty over there.” Dani pointed.</p><p>“I’ll sleep on it.” JT shrugged, getting up to pour another cup of coffee.</p>
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<a name="section0132"><h2>132. ash</h2></a>
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    <p>“Timeout — nobody move!” Malcolm yelled.</p><p>Everyone turned to him inside the studio apartment where they had all gone hoping to find their suspect. Quirked eyebrows of <em>what now</em> and <em>really, Bright?</em> looked back at him.</p><p>“This whole place is covered in ashes.”</p><p>They looked down at their feet, across the room to the kitchen counter, over to the television. A light dusting shrouded everything.</p><p>“What kind of ashes?” JT’s nose crinkled at the prospect.</p><p>“I don’t know — I can’t tell if they’re human by sight.”</p><p>“<em>Human?</em>“ JT’s eyebrows shot higher.</p><p>“Stop it,” Gil chided, giving Malcolm the stink-eye for taunting the rest of them. “This could easily be from a fireplace or something.”</p><p>“Or someone’s beloved pet,” JT grumbled.</p><p>“<em>Stop!</em>“ Gil said firmly, sharing a stern gaze with all of them. “We call Edrisa, figure this out, and get out of here.”</p><p>“Nobody move,” Malcolm reminded.</p><p>Dani sighed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”</p>
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<a name="section0133"><h2>133. don't be naive | accident | narcissism | immortal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t be naive. You have a touch of my narcissism, otherwise you never would have gotten where you are. Thank dear old dad.” Martin held his smug look, trying to break through Malcolm’s facade.</p><p>“My ability to become a profiler was not a happy accident,” Malcolm argued.</p><p>“Nope — pretty sure it had a lot to do with me. Again, the thank you would be nice.” Martin paced a little while he talked, his hands gesturing at his sides as words came to mind.</p><p>“Good to see your god complex is immortal.”</p><p>“Touché. You should probably look in the mirror for that too, though. Might find it just under those frown lines.” Martin traced his own forehead. “You do know modern medicine can help with that. It’s done wonders for your mother.”</p><p>“Enough, Dr. Whitly,” Malcolm urged.</p><p>“We’re just getting started.” Martin smiled, lighting the room with misery.</p>
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